Summer Loving
by ObsessedRomantic
Summary: Third in the Townwood Estaes AU, sequel to 'New Life, Take Two'. The weather may not change for a summer in Newport Beach, but everything else is about to. Ryan/misc, eventually Ryan/Taylor.
1. School's Out

**SUMMER LOVING **

**Disclaimer: **I do not own The O.C. (although I'd like to) or any of the characters appearing therein (dibs on Ryan!) and I'm only writing for my own entertainment, not money.

**Summary: **The weather may not change for a summer in Newport, but that's about the only thing that doesn't. Ryan/misc., eventually Ryan/Taylor.

**Warning: **Rated M for graphic situations and lots of other stuff, including foul language. Naughty, naughty.

**A/N: **So here goes, back with the Dark!Ryan fic. Hope it doesn't suck.

--xxx—

I'd really missed this.

Not even sex could compare with the thrill of holding an entire room of women in the palm of my hand. Offstage, I had **no** control; here, I controlled _everything_. The music, the lights; who I let touch me, whose tips I accepted: everything. Working my routine, I could forget the disappointment on Seth's face when I'd told him that Harbor was never gonna happen for me. Losing myself in the music erased the worried looks Sandy kept giving me, his pointedly concerned (and disturbingly astute) questions. Shaking my head to clear it, I made the motion part of my current move. This was my only set (until next weekend); my 'establishing' set for the Newport crowd, so I had to make it worthwhile. One more tip, as the song was coming to a close, and I'd make my exit. I glanced around through narrowed eyes for my last tip and smiled when I saw Ulysses S. Grant's face in miniature. I focused on the woman holding the green and blinked.

Well, well, well.

I'd always heard that it was a small world, but I'd thought that that was one of those things people just **said**. Now, though; **now** I believed it. Standing in the audience half-way down the stage was Opal, holding up her usual fifty dollar bill. From the way she twitched when I stopped in front of her, I think she didn't recognize me until **that** precise moment. Smirking, I lifted the money out of her limp fingers, flicking my gaze (in a subtle hint) towards the rear exit. Some of the others took their smoke breaks out there, but I should have a good ten minutes to talk to my ex-client before we were interrupted.

Wiping down from my set, I accepted the impressed congratulations from the other dancers. Surprisingly, there weren't any snide comments to make, though I **did** get the expected suggestive comments and propositions. Since none of them appeared to be all that serious about the offers, I felt secure in telling them that I'd think about it in a mocking tone of voice. From the way they laughed, I knew the teasing had been well-received. Mostly, they just seemed to be relieved that I wasn't working here more often. **I** was just relieved I didn't have to worry about Zach tonight. Son of a bitch was up to something, but I had **no** idea what. I couldn't exactly go to Julie and tell her the guy was giving me harsh looks.

Not that I had to tell her anything. I don't think it was just coincidence that he worked here Sunday nights, when I had a standing engagement for dinner at the Cohens. Nor was it an accident that we had no idea of each other's work schedule, or client lists. Well, aside from Meredith; but there was no help for that. Or for whatever it was Stevens had planned. All I could do was keep a sharp eye out and spend every free moment with Seth. That would cut into my time with Taylor, but maybe that was for the best. Now that she'd gotten 'top marks' in her math class, and I'd taken my S.A.T. Ones; there was nothing to distract me from the fact that she was a total fox. She'd started to ask about 'going out' sometime too, which I had no excuse but work to avoid and I **really** didn't want her to start asking about my job.

Yanking the knots tight on my boots, I shoved my teenage concerns to the back of my mind and concentrated on being professional. I had to stay calm and in control, because there was a chance (slim, but still a chance) that Opal might tell her friends where 'Ben' was working now; and then it'd only be a matter of time before Max tracked me down. There weren't many strippers my age, even fewer who worked the bedroom as well as the stage, and, of those; very, **very** rarely were they strict heteros. So finding out what the Oriental woman was doing here in Orange County was far more important than figuring a way to stay friends with a girl I shouldn't even be **talking** to.

''Why did you follow me?'' Opal whirled on me the minute I came out the back door, expression tight with panic. She was smart enough not to yell, but I could tell she wanted to. ''How did you even find me? This better not be a blackmail scheme, because…..'' She frowned at me. Actually, she was probably frowning at my smile. Relief made me light-headed, the reason for her being here so simple couldn't believe it hadn't occurred to me.

''You live here?'' I made it a question, but I knew it was true.

''Of course I do, B….'' She broke off, most likely at the way my face tightened into stone. ''What is it?''

''No names.'' I glanced around, making sure that no one was around. ''I have a place, if you want.'' I watched her consider it for a long moment.

''Lead the way.'' Curiosity more than lust was bringing her to me this time, but the end result would be the same. Money in my pocket, another satisfied customer, and a physical release for the tension that was twisting me into knots.

--xxx—

''This is where you live?'' Opal lifted eyebrows as she entered the confines of my room at the Mermaid Inn.

''No, this is where I work.'' I locked the door behind her, watching her take in the room.

It was your standard mid-level hotel room. Bed, nightstand, dresser; even a television and DVD player. The bathroom was small, just shy of the 'foot in the tub, hand in the sink, sitting on the john' cramped-space that was the usual result of designing a building by linking together a bunch of small boxes. The arrangement Julie had with the manager of this and other hotels around Newport made getting together with my patrons easy and almost unbelievably secure. Maid service took care of sheets, towels, and even my stripping gear (already in the hamper) and they were incurious enough to keep out of the drawers. Jess was grateful because that gave her a place to stash her drugs, and some of our kinkier co-workers liked it because no one messed with the 'tools' they plied their trade with.

I liked it because it took a lot of the hassle out of my jobs and gave me somewhere to come down (or clean up) from my work, somewhere I could make the shift from professional to teenager (and vice versa).

''You're still in the business?'' She sounded surprised, like she'd ……oh. Last fall, she **had** said that she'd see me in the spring. Opal must've called my old cell and gotten the 'out of service' message; there being no stored recording for 'crushed into pieces in the driveway'.

''Same prices, new boss.'' That got another brow-raise out of her, the brown eyes narrowing as she re-examined the room. I could practically read her mind, knowing that blackmail was the biggest fear for most of my clients. Well, that; and the possibility of getting sent up for child molesting or corruption of a minor. Which would remain a concern for at least the next two years, until I finally turned eighteen. ''New base of operation, same guarantee of security. I can give you the contact info if you're interested.'' I knew she was (she hadn't taken her eyes off me for more than a few seconds since she walked in), but giving her the choice should reassure her that this wasn't an attempt at blackmail.

The fact that she was **that** worried about it told me she was probably very influential in the community. I'd have to be careful, or I'd end up figuring out who she was, or letting something slip when we ran into each other (as many of the Newport events as Julie forced me to attend, that **was** a definite possibility) somewhere.

''We can't arrange something tonight?'' There it was, the familiar hunger that had driven her to L.A., last year; the urge that had pulled her after me through Newport traffic to this room.

''I didn't say **that**.'' I grabbed the purse from her hands, tossing it aside. ''Get on the bed, bitch.''

She complied, her eyes lighting up as I rummaged through the drawers for my 'equipment'. All those months ago, I'd thought she was a dominatrix. She had all the signs for it: aggressive, powerful; a woman of influence who was used to getting what she wanted. Whatever her job was, though; she must get enough of a power-trip off of **it**; because she was totally submissive when it came to sex. Hell, one of her favorite things was for me to use her like a piece of meat. It was a nice switch from being treated that way by my other patrons, and a real relief that she was the one wanting to be tied up, not wanting **me** to be tied. I'd been lucky in that regard, really. None of the women on my list were domineering; fuck, they didn't even want to be on _top_. Thinking of what my job was usually like reminded me that I should actually start **doing** it before Opal got impatient.

Stripping her clothes off 'violently' (but actually being very careful – this outfit probably cost more than my motorcycle), securing her wrists to the headboard with my (silk-lined) cuffs; all the usual stuff she got off on. We didn't kiss (with this woman, that was just to keep her from screaming, and it wasn't an issue in my 'studio'), and we didn't talk except for the occasional insult (just because she wasn't into bullying her sex-partners didn't mean she wasn't kinked). Once she was completely nude, I spent a good hour or so running my hands all over her, biting (just shy of actual damage) at her breasts; basically acting like a jackass who didn't care if she came, while making damn sure that she **did**.

I stood up, starting to shrug out of my jacket, pulling it back up over my shoulders when she shook her head. Opening my pants and boxers just enough to free my shaft, I opened a condom and applied it. Opal moaned as I thrust into her, clenching tightly in appreciation of the savage movements she preferred me to use. Bracing myself on my palms, I pounded away at her; our only contact below the waist, where she was arching up to meet the rapid pace of my hips. Focusing on her face so that I could read the subtle signals of when I should speed up and when I should slow down; I prepared to ride out her pleasure until I saw permission to yield to mine. She hit orgasm, her warm folds contracting around my joint; and I frowned in confusion.

It felt good, no question. It just didn't feel **as **good. It was like I'd been jacking off, not like I was fucking a beautiful woman senseless. Closing my eyes, I set my body on automatic and tried to figure it out. Nothing was different; I was doing the same things I always did with this patron. So why was it so difficult to keep going? Staccato, desperate-sounding, cries of enjoyment pulled my attention away from trying to figure out what I was doing wrong. Whatever was off, it was obvious my patron didn't feel it. From the look on her face, I'd been focused on my arousal problems for longer than I'd thought. Opal didn't appear to be upset; just really, **really** desperate for me to come so that the flood of endorphins overloading her brain would **stop**.

Shit, I just hoped I could still **do** that.

Lowering my control, it only took one or two more thrusts before I spent. She arched beneath me, screaming with pleasure; riding it out. Well, good; but I was still confused. Sure, I'd had an orgasm; but it was low-key. Usually, screwing one of these condescending, manipulative bitches (especially when they were in a submissive position) really got my rocks off. This time ……this time, I was left feeling cheated and used; depressed and just a little dirty.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

--xxx—

''Hi, there.'' I glanced over, sighing when I saw who it was that had interrupted my solitude. Brooding, actually; but if I'd wanted to mix and mingle, I'd be inside.

A week later, and the problem I'd noticed when re-connecting with my former (and now current) client was still there. It'd been there with my Saturday patron, with Meredith; with every single job I'd had since that night. None of the women who'd hired my services noticed anything, but **I **certainly did. I could still do my job, but the thrill, the enthusiasm I used to have for it; was missing. I got off, but it wasn't anything more enjoyable than a good jack-off session; in some cases, it was even **less**.

It was confusing the shit out of me, because I couldn't figure out what had happened. I'd done some research on the internet, but I had none of the symptoms (or just wasn't old enough) for any of the diseases or conditions that could cause this; and, thanks to Spence, I watched what I ate pretty carefully, so it wasn't some weird food allergy. And it couldn't be the junk food I ate while playing video games with Seth. There was no way **that** could be having an effect on my 'performance'. I was just thankful that it wasn't interfering (per last night's successfully profitable set) with my **stripping**, or the charge I got therefrom. The possibility that it **could,** though; was why I was out on one of the country club's balconies (instead of working the party, like I should be), leaning on the rail; feeling frustrated (mentally if not physically), annoyed, uncertain, and basically wondering if I was going nuts.

In short, I was in no mood to have the boss's daughter eyeing me up.

''Go away.'' There was no reason for me to ever talk to her, and I didn't want to get involved with a girl that reminded me so strongly (Oliver) of someone I was trying to forget.

Besides, she was drunk. Or stoned. Neither made her any more appealing.

''I don't think you should talk to me like that.'' She pouted her bottom lip out, crossing her arms over her chest. I snorted at her transparent attempt to manipulate me by pretending to be hurt. Most guys would fall all over themselves to apologize, to make the spoiled little princess smile at them.

I didn't give a rat's ass about her 'feelings', I just wanted her to go away.

''Why? Because my brother works for your mom?'' I snorted at her (so fake) surprised expression. There was a glint of intelligence under the glaze to her eyes; which only made me more eager to get rid of her. Someone doing drugs because there was no other way to escape the pain of their lives: that I could understand, and almost sympathize with. Someone doing it because they were bored, or because they wanted to get attention, or because everyone else did ……. She was smart enough (if her mother was any indication) to know better, and she was doing it anyway. ''Go play your games somewhere else, _little girl_.''

''There's no reason we can't be friends.'' Marissa dropped her 'offended' act and turned pleading, reaching out a hand to touch me. I jerked back, feeling my stomach roil at the thought of her skin making contact with mine, even through my clothes. Something of my disgust must've shown on my face, in my eyes; because she frowned. ''What if I tell my mother you're being so mean?'' She was obviously threatening Spencer, which only made her resemblance to Oliver even stronger; which didn't exactly help with the nausea.

''She'll be ecstatic that you didn't make friends with a guy from Chino.'' That wasn't really **why**, but my background was a good enough reason without getting into the truth of my business with Julie.

''There you are.'' I'd never been so glad to see anyone since moving to Newport, even it was another of the Cooper clan. ''Mom wants you.''

''I'm busy.'' She stepped closer to me and I stepped quickly back, ignoring the jolt in my shoulders when I bumped into the wall in my attempt to avoid her.

''She said something about revoking your wardrobe privileges…..'' Marissa simpered regretfully at me and left, leaving me to sag against the brick in relief, pulling a hand over my face as if I could wipe the encounter away. ''You're a strange one.'' The younger girl (Katie? No, Kaitlyn) tilted her head at me specutively. ''Guys are usually all over my sister. You looked glad to get rid of her.''

''I was.'' She didn't look offended, thankfully; but she did look impressed. Fuck. One down, one to go. ''Thanks.'' I **was** grateful, the more so because I suspected that Julie hadn't sent any message and, when Marissa complained (which I would bet huge she would); I'd never have to worry about the bitch again. My boss would make **damn **sure that her precious baby and I never had another opportunity to spend time together.

Hell, the situation might even get me out of having to attend these lame-ass parties.

''You're welcome.'' She looked me up and down (I braced myself, wondering if I should just jump over the railing and run) and then shook her head. ''No. Not really my type.'' As much as I wanted to be shocked (and maybe a little ego-damaged); I found myself smiling in relief. She returned the smile; mischevious and just a little reminiscent of her mother. Uh-oh. ''But you **do** owe me.'' I nodded, not really worried about it. From what I could tell, this kid was just about a complete opposite of her sister. Whatever favor she asked, I was sure it wouldn't be anything I couldn't handle.

--xxx—

''Ryan! Hey, dude; glad you could make it. How've you been? Job okay? You enjoying the summer vaca thus far?''

I hadn't missed a Sunday dinner with the Cohens yet, but Seth still greeted me like I'd had to travel cross-country to get there; instead of just walking next door. Sometimes, he acted as if we hadn't seen each other in months; even if it had been only hours since I'd been sprawled on his den floor playing video games and discussing the virtues of urban heroes like Batman and Oracle versus powerhouses like Superman and Green Lantern.

It was nice to be liked, to be treated as a person.

''Hey.'' Sandy and Kirsten had been having a whispered discussion on the far side of the dinner table; cutting it off when Seth and I came in. The paper in her hand, the guilty looks on both their faces …….

Oh shit.

''Ryan, we owe you an apology.'' Kirsten began, glancing at her husband for support. The man nodded, making my gut clench with dread.

Oh fucking **shit**.

''Maybe we should sit down.'' Sandy suggested, sounding sympathetic; his expression concerned – most likely at tightly pale set to my features.

_Mother-fucking __**shit**_**.**

The **bastard**.

We'd had an _agreement_, damn it all to hell. An agreement! I'd all but _begged_ him to stay out of my past, and he'd agreed!

Disappointment was stronger than my fear, making me take the offered seat out of a perverse desire to hear what he had to say for himself. He owed me that much, at least. I wondered idly if Trey would have time to split, or if the authorities were already circling. White paper was set in front of me, but I just didn't have the nerve to unfold it. Whatever was in that letter wasn't anything I wanted to read, I knew that much. Truth to tell, I was kind of surprised they were doing it like this, and in front of their son. The things in my file, the things I'd gone through: they weren't something a kid like Seth should be exposed to, even second-hand.

''We thought it was Seth's.'' Confused, I lifted my eyes to Kirsten; wondering why she was smiling at me like **that**. Like I'd done something wonderful.

''The mailman got the addresses mixed up, switched the envelopes.'' Sandy handed his offspring another piece of white paper, grinning with **definite** pride. What the **fuck**?

I couldn't figure out what they were talking about, couldn't understand how my best friend had gotten a record. Maybe from when he was helping Marissa out? Or had one of his 'incidents' with the jocks at his school been more extreme then he'd told me?

''Awesome! Ninety-six is sweet.'' Brown eyes beamed at me happily, expectantly. ''What did you get?''

''Get.'' I looked down at the paper, having no idea what he was talking about.

''I didn't even look at the name. I was so excited I just ripped it open, sorry.'' Sandy told me, still grinning that proud-papa's grin. ''Trey wasn't home, so I just lifted Seth's S.A.T. envelope from your mailbox.''

''Dad, that's a federal offense. You better hope Ryan's got a high score, so he'll be in a good enough mood not to charge you…..''

I didn't hear the rest of his rambling, heart pounding in my ears as I snatched the paper off the table and unfolded it with shaking hands. The relief at how wrong I'd been with the conclusions I'd jumped to (I really needed to stop doing that) was **nothing** to the anticipation as I skimmed the page, running my eyes down to where the sections were totaled. I knew I'd done okay, I just hoped it was enough over fifty percent to make my entry into Newport Union hassle-free. When I reached the line where the scoring was, I think I stopped breathing for a minute. I was certainly dizzy enough to be oxygen-deprived. My eyes flicked to the top of the page to confirm that it **was** my name at the top, **my** social security number next to it. No matter how much I stared in disbelief and wonder, though……..

…….the bold-printed '98' didn't change.

''Oh my god.''


	2. Reunion

**A/N: ** Kind of a long chapter, I know. Kind of a long wait, too.

Thanks to Lori for the kick & advice.

Thanks to Waltzy for just pestering me until I finished.

Thanks to everyone else for sticking with me.

Hope it's worth the wait.

--xxx—

''Ninety-eight percent? Ryan, that's wonderful!'' Her enthusiasm was great, I really appreciated the way she smiled at me (so beautiful) in pure happiness.

The way she threw her arms around my neck, however …..

Ever since that first mutual tutoring session, I'd avoided touching Taylor. It was just too intoxicating, the charge that came from the feel of her skin. After I'd noticed my working problem (two weeks and it still felt like I was masturbating instead of fucking); I was _especially _careful not to make contact with the girl. I didn't want to do so, only to find out that the electric thrill I'd once gotten from her was now diminished, possibly even absent.

Looks like I was worried for nothing, I thought. If anything, the tingling pleasure of her touch was **stronger**. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that her body was pressed against me, liquid fire pounding through my veins in reaction to the sensation of holding her in my arms.

I closed my eyes, relishing the embrace; cupping my right hand over her right shoulder, keeping my left at the small of her back through supreme force of will. No matter how much I **wanted** to, I promised myself; I wouldn't let my hands wander. Turning my head to breathe in the silk of her hair, I wondered if it would sound weird to ask her about her shampoo. Inhaling the heady aroma of her skin, I reconsidered. It might be her perfume, after all; or a lotion, or even just some fancy soap that gave Taylor this wonderful smell I couldn't get enough of. Somewhere between peaches and vanilla, just shy of musk: a scent entirely her own.

''Uhm, Ryan?'' Her voice was definitely shaky, snapping me out of my haze. I forced myself to step back, shivering at the feel of her fingers trailing along my neck, moving down to splay across my chest. Just as I was about to groan (if it felt this good with our clothes **on**), she seemed to realize what she was doing. ''Sorry.'' She snatched her hands to her chest, clutching them together; her face flushed and hazel eyes huge with excited shock. ''I'm sorry.'' She turned and walked away. Not to run from me, I could tell; just to do something with the energy that was coursing through us both. I fell into step with her, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand.

''It's okay.'' It wasn't, really. There was a throbbing ache below my waist, my head was light (probably from the re-directed blood flow), and it was all I could do **not** to grab her and kiss her with everything I had, every skill I possessed.

''Well……'' Taylor swallowed nervously, glancing around in an obvious attempt to find a subject. Or even to regain our prior one. She licked her lips, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her sweater. ''That's a good score. You could do a lot with that. Harbor offers two or three scholarships a year……''

''No.'' Suddenly, it was a lot easier to ignore the effect she'd had on me. ''I can't.'' Unlike Seth, she didn't get depressed about the solid tone of my refusal but, unlike the older Cohens; she also didn't let it go.

''Why not? It's not like you're not smart enough.'' I shrugged, wishing now I'd never told her my score. Blurting something (however innocuous) out just because she smiled at me: I **knew** better, damnit. ''I don't understand you.'' Taylor huffed an annoyed breath, reaching up to brush her bangs out of her eyes. ''Why won't you even try?''

''Trey's not my brother.'' Oh _**fuck**_. I didn't just say that, I couldn't have.

What the **hell** was wrong with me, lately? First my professional problems, then the near panic attack with the Cohens, **then** I start babbling like an idiot to some girl I'd only known for a couple of months, just because I didn't want her to stop _smiling_ at me?

I had to get back to normal before I screwed something up I couldn't fix.

''If he's not your brother, who is he?'' Cousin, moron; say 'cousin'. Uncle. Uncle works, say 'uncle', dumbass.

Just don't give her the truth.

''He's the guy who saved my life.''

Shit for brains.

I really **was**, because I couldn't seem to stop. Somehow, for whatever reason; I ended up giving her (thankfully only most of) the story. How my mom had died, the perverts and sadists (generally speaking, no reason to bring up the Andersons) in foster care, the pool sharking, the desperation, the biker bar; until I finally reached Spencer's (I barely managed to refer to him as 'Trey') unexpected rescue.

''Well, that explains a lot.'' There was, thankfully, no pity on her face; but she **did** look sympathetic. Taylor reached out and took my hand, threading her fingers into mine. This time, the tingle didn't head straight for my groin. It surged through to my chest, warming me all over and giving me a general feeling of contentment. ''I can understand why you wouldn't want a group of school officials nosing around in your past, asking uncomfortable questions.''

''They'd probably charge him with kidnapping.'' At the **very** least, and **that **would just be to start with. I scowled at the stupidity of those sanctimonious pricks in Child Services; so convinced they were right, they couldn't see the lives they were endangering, destroying. ''Nice way to pay him back, sending him to jail.''

''There has to be a way around the investigation.'' She furrowed her brow, and my gut clenched in dread. All I needed was her digging around, trying to find some way to help me; uncovering the secrets I **hadn't** managed to spill.

''If I promise to try and find one, will you leave it alone?'' There was hurt as well as confusion on her face, and I tried for a smile. ''I don't want Trey to know I told you.'' Damn right I didn't. He'd kick my stupid ass. ''He'd be …..upset.'' He'd be fucking pissed, is what.

''I just want to help. That's what friends do, they help.'' There was that surge of warmth again, and I looked down to see if she'd taken my other hand or something. No, we were still only linked by one handclasp; the tingle from it merging with the new sensation until I started to feel dizzy. How could she be **doing** this to me when we were only holding hands? Or was it even her? Maybe it was just the latest symptom in whatever the hell was wrong with me, lately.

I'd worry about that later. Right now, I had to get her off trying to help me without hurting her feelings or pissing her off. Taylor was one of my few friends, and….

Oh, of course.

''Friends also trust each other when they say they can handle things.'' She nodded, biting her lip; and I almost collapsed with relief. That she wouldn't interfere was great, and she wasn't the type to go blabbing around about what she'd just learned. That was just part of who she was.

She was **also**, however, the kind of girl to keep bringing the matter up until I either found a way into Harbor or had a damn good reason why I hadn't.

Me in Harbor.

Once I got past the sheer terror at the idea; it was kind of funny to imagine the (horrified, shocked, maybe even fearful) expressions of the 'Newpsies' (as Sandy called them) when they found out they'd admitted (provided they did) a kid from Chino to their elite academy.

Okay, now I **had** to find a way into that school.

If for no other reason than to see the looks on their condescending, uptight faces.

--xxx—

''She say what this was about?''

Alex shook her head at my question, concentrating on weaving us in and out of traffic as she drove towards Julie's house. That right there was a danger sign, that the boss wanted us _at_ _her house_. If she wasn't throwing a NewMatch party, there was no excuse for **me** to be there; and my pool-playing buddy had even **less** of a reason to be 'dropping by'. My gut twisted another notch tighter when I remembered that she'd had the bartender pick me up **before** I could make my usual Tuesday evening appointment with Meredith.

Maybe I'd been wrong, maybe my patrons **had** noticed something 'off' lately. Maybe they'd complained to my faceless (to them) employer and I was about to be asked for an explanation of my recent performance. That would suck on several levels: the loss of income as my patrons were re-assigned, the humiliation of Zach (eventually) knowing I'd been 'unsatisfactory', and the fact that I still had no idea **why** things were this way in the **first** place.

She parked and I made my way in through the back entrance, the raised voices guiding me towards one of the first-floor studies. The place was like a fucking palace, with damn near opulent bedrooms, bathrooms that could only be described as extravagant, sweeping staircases, marble floors in the foyer, and even a fucking fountain (complete w/statuary) in the front drive. Even as tense as I was about this meeting, I still found time to appreciate the artistry of the structure.

Not that I **liked** it. On the contrary, I hated the thing. It was hard to like a building (however well-designed) someone had made such a shit-ugly color.

Seriously, it looked like they'd made a mansion out of a baboon's butt.

''…….it's too fucking dangerous!'' Spencer? But Spencer never yelled, he thought it was a sign of stupidity and desperation. When he got mad, he got cold and quiet; not loud and hot-blooded.

''That's a matter of opinion.'' Julie snapped back, pacing back and forth in front of her desk. Her appearance, and that of my 'brother', very nearly stopped me in my tracks.

The woman I was used to wore fashionable clothes and fancy jewelry; even her _make-up_ was applied with subtle care to enhance whatever look (businesswoman, mother, cosmopolitan lady-about-town) she was going for. To see her in a sweat-suit (stylish or not) with her hair pulled into an obviously hasty pony-tail and **no** cosmetics on at **all** was a serious jolt.

And then there was Spence.

Flushed and glaring, I'd never seen him this close to losing control before. He was gritting his teeth and clenching his hands in and out of fists. Not since the night we'd first met had he been such a stranger to me. That didn't keep him from looking familiar, though; like he was one smart remark away from getting physical, like he was just **itching** to cut loose on someone.

For however brief an instant, I was afraid of him.

''What's up?" I shoved aside the ridiculous notion of Spencer being a threat and focused on Julie. Their body language, while making me nervous with it's level of strangeness; was all wrong for this to be a dressing-down over my recent 'work'. Something else was going on, something serious.

''Marissa's run away.'' I ducked my head to avoid laughing in her face. That spoiled brat wouldn't stay away from Mommy's money for long, no matter how much she pretended to resent Mommy's presence. She'd been in town a month, now; and the time had given me the opportunity to form an honest opinion (based on more than the way she creeped me out) of the girl.

I hated her.

I don't know if it was that her near-constant state of inebriation reminded me of Dawn, or that she seemed to blame Seth for her meltdown last year (probably because he'd rejected her advances), or the shitty way she treated her sister (reason number one why I didn't have to talk to her at parties was Kaitlyn running interference), or the way she kept chasing after me (despite, or perhaps because of, my repeated refusals), or how she'd taken over Summer's group (the brunette didn't look at all happy about being suddenly relegated to second place), or maybe it **was** just that she made my skin crawl.

''You should call a cop.'' Spencer frowned at the pointed look our boss gave him, but didn't back down. ''Hire a private detective, then. Bodyguard; **something**. But you're **not** sending _**him**_.''

''That's not your call to make.'' Julie snapped, giving me a hopeful look; like she expected me to take her side. Unfortunately for her, I was with my partner on this one.

''Why would **I** be going after her?'' Marissa wasn't my friend, despite several attempts on her part to bring me into her circle of admirers. Right. Sign me up to be led around by the pecker by **that** egotistical bitch. Like I didn't have enough problems in my life. ''I barely even know her.'' And I meant to keep it that way, for as long as possible.

''Well, the cops would just make it worse, and ditto for anyone I could hire. She'll be more willing to come home with someone her own age, anyway.'' As sympathetic as I was to the pain on my boss's face, it still wasn't enough to move me to help. Maybe this would show her her daughter's true nature, and teach the girl in question not to be so fucking melodramatic.

''So send Luke. Or Chip. Or one of the other guys who pants after her.'' I couldn't help but shake my head at the thought of those poor bastards. It was obvious, at least to me, that no matter how clingy she _acted_; she had no intention of **ever** sleeping with any of them. They were just there to prove how desirable she was, how powerful.

''She went to Chino.'' Julie sighed, giving me a demonstration of what 'wringing one's hands' looked like. She started to bite her nails, then forcibly twisted her fingers together. ''Kaitlyn says** she** said something about looking for your old friends, so she could get closer to you.''

''That's insane.'' It was also stupid. Damn, but I was glad I'd been smart enough to give her a wide berth. ''Why would she…?'' It occurred to me that there might be **another** reason for my presence; besides the attempt of this woman to send me to fetch her offspring. She just **might** think that I was trying to get something going with her oldest. ''No. We've barely exchanged five words, ask Kaitlyn. Ask Seth. I never…..''

''You wouldn't be here if I thought you did my daughter, Ryan. You'd be on a bus somewhere with a couple broken bones.'' My boss seemed to gather her professionalism around her with the threat, to regain some of her calm calculation. ''You're the best person for the job. Young, trustworthy: you know the neighborhood, the people……''

''He's **not** stupid, he's **not **expendable, and he's **not **_**going**_!'' Spencer burst out, slamming one fist into the wall. I couldn't help but twitch at the action, a move unseen by my partner in his rising fury. ''He'd be risking certain **death** to go back there and no offense, but your daughter's just not worth it.'' Way to piss of the boss, I thought, wincing at his words. I could tell he meant it, too. Marissa's life, Julie's (any _woman's _life, really); they didn't matter to him. He might have sympathy for someone like Seth, but he'd never feel the slightest twinge for a female (like Taylor) in the same situation. For the second time that night, I felt like I didn't know my 'brother' at all.

''Well, what would **make** it worth it?'' Startled, I tore my worried gaze away from the stranger who was my friend and met Julie's desperate green eyes. ''What do you want?'' I almost said I'd do it for free; but didn't feel like giving everyone else in the room a heart attack from the shock. I also knew the idiot drama princess didn't have time for us to haggle over the fee of retrieving her. What could I ask for that wouldn't be insultingly low-value? What had I asked for the **last** time my boss had wanted to reward me?

''A scholarship.'' Spencer closed his eyes in resignation. The knowledge that there'd be no way in hell he could talk me out of it, if she agreed, was all over his face; mixing with the worry over my safety until his expression was haggard and drawn.

''To which college?'' Her ready agreement startled me, and it really shouldn't have. The only other woman I'd met with a greater maternal instinct than this lady possessed was Kirsten Cohen. ''Ivy League, or just state?'' While I appreciated her confidence in my potential, I couldn't let her get any further into her mistaken assumption.

''Not to a college. To Harbor.'' She blinked at me, and I continued before she could start protesting that paying my tuition wasn't the best way to keep our business association a secret. ''I want a chance to try for a scholarship at Harbor, without the school board or whomever getting nosy.'' I waved a hand between myself and the other male in the room, indicating the trouble that could arise from anyone digging too deep into our actual relationship. ''I can pass the test…'' since my SAT-ones scores, I was _beyond _confident in my scholastic abilities ''…write the essay. Whatever hoops they put up, I'll jump through.''

''You're not asking me to get you in.'' Julie appeared relived that she wouldn't end up (if she was lucky) having to bribe the entire PTA. She even seemed to be a little respectful of my wanting to earn my admission (if not the chance at it) honestly.

''I can handle the skull-work of getting in.'' Sticking out a hand for her to shake, I couldn't help the hustler's smile as she clasped our palms together and sealed the bargain. ''All you need to do is get me the shot.''

--xxx—

Chino hadn't changed.

There were still the run-down buildings with their gang tags, the pristine churches (some things, even bangers respected) glaring white contrast to the chaotic swirls of spray paint surrounding them. Tiny spots of family pride (mowed lawns, intact porches, flowers) stood in oasis to the more prevalent (weed-infested, broken-down, police-taped) **shacks**. The people were still the same over-worked, struggling family types being careful not to anger the more numerous drug dealers, gang members, and just plain scum. Everyone scattering at sundown; only the dangerous (and the desperate) braving the dark hours until they reached the deceptive safety of the dawn.

It wasn't that the familiarity of the bar (and the dog's piss they were serving as beer) was _comforting_, exactly. It was just that here, I knew the rules. In Newport, sometimes; it was just so hard to tell what was really going on. At least in Chino, I could tell which people were dangerous and which were just pretending. Back home, **everyone** was faking it to one extent or another; so it could be really difficult …..

Wait. When had Newport Beach become 'home'?

''Talk about your blast from the past.'' Turning, I laid eyes on a nice Latino girl, smiling at me as her friends giggled and waved. I'd spotted the obvious 'girl's only' party as I'd come in; but ignored it once I'd seen that there wasn't any dark blonde stick figures with them. ''Pussy got your tongue, Ryan?'' The stupid joke clicked with her appearance and I finally recognized her.

Holy shit.

''Theresa?'' Her clothes were actually covering her decently and her make-up was minimal; no **wonder** I hadn't recognized her. She and the other girls must be out commiserating over the jerks they'd ended up with. She only dressed up (tightly revealing clothes, heavy make-up, cheap jewelry) when she was trying to make nice with her boyfriend, or lure in a new one. She'd never considered hanging with her friends (the female ones anyway) to be worth the effort. Checking around for her brother (or one of her **male **friends) was a good idea, habitual or not. I'd spent far too many months dodging the somewhat justifiable wrath of 'Turo to get taken by surprise now. Coast clear, I gave her a quick hug. ''How've you been?'' If I didn't act glad to see her, or give the attempt a good try; I knew she'd get supremely pissed. It was a strange attitude for a girl who'd had no qualms about dumping **me** whenever I got 'boring', but staying in **her **good graces was something I'd had so much practice at it was practically ingrained.

Besides, I could use her help in finding my target.

''I missed you.'' Doubtful, despite the pouting lip; but I knew the rules of the game she was playing, and the role I was to fill. ''You were gone so long, I was starting to worry.'' Meaning whomever her current boy was had likely taken off, having had enough of her bossing him around. Good news and bad. Good, because she'd be easier to convince to help me find Marissa if she wasn't **with** someone and bad, because she'd be trying to drag me back to her room all night.

''I thought I'd give your brother a chance to cool off.'' She laughed, and I felt the old resentment stir. As many threats (breaking my arm, beating me senseless) that the guy had followed through with (if I kissed her, if I even looked at her); she apparently **still** thought 'Turo was 'joking' with me, that I'd been lying when I'd tried to tell her (show her) what he'd done to me. Shoving the irritation aside, I dug into my back pocket for the picture Julie had provided me. ''And I'm here on business.'' I held out the photo so she could see it more clearly in the bar's dim light. ''Her name's Marissa. Her mom hired me to find her.''

''Why would a girl like **that** come to Chino?'' Theresa sneered as she pushed my hand aside. ''Story like that, you should use a picture from the newspaper, not some model's face you clipped out of Cosmo.'' I saw my chances of getting this errand over with quickly (before some _hombre_ took a liking to the Cooper girl) slipping away in the annoyance on her face. ''You're still a rotten liar, Ryan.'' Yeah, I knew that. Luckily, I didn't have to convince her of the truth behind my words; having something that would spark her interest **real** quick.

''I think she came hoping to score some cheap dope.'' I pulled a wad of cash out of my pants pocket; one of the many I'd secreted about my person when Julie had pushed the funds on me. Good thing my old outfit of jeans, hoodie, and leather jacket didn't show the bulges; or I never would've made it even **this** far from the bus stop. That woman had seen one too many cop shows (or something); because she obviously (from the amount she handed me, a good couple thou) expected me to be able to **bribe** my way to her daughter. ''Look, her mother gave me this for expenses.'' Technically true; my actual pay-off wasn't in anything as tangible as money. I watched her eyes light up as I moved my thumb sideways; fanning what had to be a good three hundred dollars between my fingers. ''You can have it if you help me track her down. Get your _mamacita_ off your back about getting a job.'' She reached for it and I clenched my fist around the bills, bending my arm so my hand came back (out of her reach) towards my shoulder. ''Meet you outside?''

''Sure.'' Theresa licked her lips, glancing quickly at her friends; who appeared to be more interested in their drinks (and the guys shooting pool) then our conversation. She shrugged, seeming to dismiss whatever concerns she'd had about leaving them behind in her focus on the cash. ''I got my car. We'll start with Carlos. He deals, now; and knows where all the parties are.'' Trailing after her, I reminded myself not to let go the money until we were actually **talking** to Carlos. Bargains with this girl had a way of altering themselves between me holding up my end and her coming through with hers.

--xxx—

From the way she'd referred to Carlos, I'd expected to recognize him. Long-haired, a few years older than me, dressed kind of like a heavy-metal groupie; the only thing I recognized about him was the glare he gave me. That 'why shouldn't I kick your ass?' glare I'd gotten from just about every guy I'd ever run across since setting foot in Chino (age five) to the day I left. Shit. Even in Newport, I was still encountering that sour, hard-faced look. The couple tokes I took softened it on him (or him on me, things were getting fuzzy), the money I handed over erased it completely. A few more drags to prove I wasn't a narc or anything else unfriendly, and we had a list of addresses to try.

It was a good thing Theresa was driving. I'd been almost completely dry for the better part of a year, and I'd never really had the money to get _seriously_ into drugs, although I **had** taken part when they'd shown up (pre-Spencer) at the parties I'd crashed. Pot only (I'd never liked the idea of risking death for a high with the harder stuff); and even **that** was years back. My tolerance must be for shit **now**, though; because however many puffs I'd taken (four? Six?), I was already mildly buzzed.

''This is the fifth house.'' I nodded, wondering why Theresa was annoyed at me. It must be because she was jealous of Marissa or something. Hadn't I told her that the bitch wasn't my girlfriend? I should tell her that, but make it clear that I didn't want to get back together with **her**, either. Things were tough enough without being caught between Marissa and Theresa.

''I'm not with her, you know.'' The words seemed familiar. Had I rehearsed them or had I just told her that already? It was hard to remember. I definitely shouldn't have had that drink. Or was it drinks? Details were hazy, but I knew that the girl couldn't be pissed if I **was** drunk. **She** was the one who'd handed me the cups and encouraged me to drain them; so it was her own fault if I wasn't in complete control of myself. ''I'm not with anyone.'' It was true, damnit.

Patrons didn't count.

''Let's just find her, all right?'' I wanted to ask how many of the plastic containers she'd handed me; but I didn't want to seem like I was complaining. It had just been to appear 'normal', anyway; to blend in.

And I was certainly blended.

''Marissa!'' My ex-next-door neighbor flinched at my shout, but it just seemed to me that it would save time if I called out for the girl instead of trying to be all subtle and showing her picture to people who couldn't make their eyes focus. It had worked, too. Well, aside from the third house (second? First, maybe?) where we'd had a hell of a time getting this non-Marissa 'Marissa' chick to get the hint we weren't looking for **her**. But I'd lost the picture (I **had **had a picture, right?) somewhere between house two and here, so we didn't have any other options. ''Hey, Marissa!''

''What?'' I couldn't believe it. There she was; wearing only her jeans and a bra, the rest of her clothes piled on the table in front of her. Strip Poker. Figures. From the way her opponents were looking at me, it was going to take a miracle to get her out of here without someone (most likely me) getting hurt. ''Oh, hey, Ryan. Wanna play?'' Her tone was suggestive, face inviting. Unlike the faces of her friends, which practically screamed 'fuck off before we kill you'.

''Thank God we found you.'' Theresa gushed, snatching the obvious female clothes from the pile. ''You know the doctor said alcohol wouldn't mix well with your hormone supplements.'' Confusion crossed the other girl's face, but she obediently started putting her clothes back on.

Hunh. Looked like I wasn't the only one wasted.

''Wait a minute. Hormones? As in……?'' I almost snickered (which would've ruined the con) at the look of abject horror that crossed their drunken faces with the implication that Marissa wasn't _entirely_ the girl she appeared to be.

''No way.'' Whether he was protesting because he didn't believe us, or because he was trying to save face; the guy shuffling the deck dropped the cards and reached for the blonde girl.

''Hey!'' Theresa slapped his hand away, her tone warning and tender, and I was reminded of just how good she was at this. Manipulation, conning people, mind games; **this **was why I'd asked for her help. If anyone could pry a smoking hottie out of a _chulo's _grasp, it was her. ''The doc may do good work, but that doesn't mean you should go pawing around before the stitches heal.'' That did it. The entire table found a reason to be elsewhere, faces slightly green at the thought of **why** there'd be stitches in that 'area' and **what **had been there **before** the stitches. ''Ryan! Little help here?'' Marissa was slumping to the floor, her eyes glazed and features slack. I recognized the slightly surprised look on her face as she wilted. Sometimes, you didn't realize that you'd passed out drunk until you tried to stand up.

''Let's go.'' Throwing the Cooper girl over one shoulder I waved at people as we made our exit. ''Nice party. Thanks for having us. Night!'' Dumping the girl into the back of Theresa's car, I crawled over the door and stood in my seat, clasping my hands together over my head. ''Victory!'' I was so relieved that I'd found her before anything had happened.

Now I could go home, and then I could call Taylor and tell her that I was getting into Harbor. Seth, too; maybe. Although; I wouldn't want to get his hopes up. Maybe I should wait the calls until I actually got **admitted**. No, Taylor would bug the ever-loving shit out of me; better tell _**her **_right away. I opened my cell phone and squinted at the gibberish someone had loaded onto it. The numbers and symbols blurred until they started to look like some sort of code. Trying to gather my hazy thoughts, I narrowed my eyes at the keypad. Which button was the one to make it talk to me?

''Sit down.'' Theresa tugged on my jeans and I dropped obligingly into the passenger seat. Closing the cell, I shoved it into my jacket pocket. Maybe it'd be in English when I opened it later. It was probably just the night air that made it all hieroglyphic; it'd work better inside somewhere, where it was warmer. ''You can't take her home like this.''

''Ah, it wouldn't be the first time that bitch's had one too many.'' I snorted, giving up on the seatbelt, and watched the swirl of traffic moving around us. Surprisingly, the kaleidoscope of color and movement didn't make me nauseous. Probably because I hadn't had that much to eat since the light dinner before Alex had taken me…….somewhere. I remembered being in Alex's car. Alex's car was green, and Theresa's was yellow. Both lacked roofs, which was nice. Made it easier to see the stars. ''Maybe it's time for Julie to find out what she has for a daughter.'' That would be good. Then the boss would **do** something about her and I could relax and stop spending my time trying to avoid the skank.

''Well, I'm not driving you. I've gotta be at church tomorrow.'' My brow furrowed and I tried to think. Was it Saturday? It couldn't be, but I wasn't all that sure why not. My head felt funny, like there was a wall between my brain and the rest of me. Theresa continued talking, so I turned to face her. Her words might make more sense if I could see them exiting her mouth. ''The buses don't run this late, and a cab wouldn't come out this far; even if you had the money for one.'' I didn't have money? That was weird, I seemed to remember lots of money. ''How are you gonna get her home, genius?'' There'd been a plan for that, for when I found Marissa, there **had** been a plan.

I just couldn't remember what it was.

''I don't remember.'' I confessed, wondering why I wasn't tense. Usually, a situation like this would have me panicking and desperately trying to fix things. It just didn't seem that important, and I sighed in relief at the lack of stress I was currently feeling. I wished I could bottle this moment and drink it down the next time I …. Oh. ''I'm drunk, aren't I?''

''Totally.'' Instead of coming off angry, the girl actually sounded pleased. I blinked at her, trying to get my bleary eyes to focus on her features so I could read her expression. ''Look, you can stay tonight; but you've got to be gone by noon.''

I nodded, familiar with **that** arrangement. It looked like Mrs. Saiz was on the graveyard-to-noon shift at the convenience store again. Pity, she made some nice breakfasts. I'm sure Marissa had some cash on her somewhere, so it wasn't like we wouldn't be able to pay for the meal. We'd grab something on the way back, if our hangovers weren't too intense. Getting the bitch into the house was fun; what with her being a dead weight (all limp and bony) and me being none too steady on my feet. Finally, though; we managed to drape her across the couch, blanket tucked in around her and Theresa's assurances that 'Turo wouldn't molest her when he got in, because he'd be at Eddie's all night. The two of us (three, but I was only counting the conscious people) were alone in the house, and would be for some time.

Fuck, I knew what **that** meant.

''Come on.'' Sure enough, once we'd settled the Cooper girl; the other was taking my hand and dragging me into her bedroom. Not that I was in any condition to protest. As high as I was flying, I probably would've said 'yes' to just about anyone. And this girl **had** been the first one I'd made the 'sex for a safe place to crash' deal with.

So it was really not a surprise that she matter-of-factly started taking her clothes off the minute the door was closed. I remembered **that** much from before I'd left. We could be all alone in the house, and she'd still have to close the door before she'd so much as kiss me. It was like I was her guilty little secret, and she didn't want anyone to even _suspec_t she was doing me. Theresa cleared her throat pointedly, and I hastened to get out of my own clothes. I hoped that my recent work problems wouldn't combine with the booze in my system to make this difficult. Somehow, I didn't think the girl was going to understand if I couldn't perform. Laying down on the bed next to her, I returned her caresses with casual hands. It didn't feel any better than anything else I'd done that week; but at least it didn't feel any **worse**. Trailing kisses down her neck, I feathered a touch around her hip to softly stroke my fingers against her clit.

''I've missed you so much.'' She said, clutching at me; pushing me back when I snickered. ''What?''

''You've missed the sex.'' Shrugging, I transferred my attention to her inner thigh; moving my mouth down her body to join my hand.

''You can't blame me; you **are** pretty good at it.'' She sighed, spreading her legs so I could feast between them.

''For what I'm charging, I should be.'' Dragging my tongue along the entrance to her cunt, I slid one hand up her form to play with her breasts. That was the key to a satisfied patron: multi-tasking.

''Charging?'' Theresa groaned, and I remembered one of the things I hated about having sex with her: she always wanted me to talk. Applying my skill, she fell silent for several long moments (if I didn't count the gasps and moans) until she came, spilling her juices into my mouth and laughing. Wait. Laughing? Seriously?

''What?'' Confused, I wiped my mouth off on the back of the hand that hadn't been spreading her folds open for my tongue. She'd never been amused by me bedroom skills (or anything else about me) before, why now?

''All that time, pretending you were better than us, that you were smarter; and you're nothing but a _whore_.'' I scowled at her, not liking the subjective trip down memory lane she was on. I **couldn't** have had as much of an attitude as she was implying, because guys with chips on their shoulders wound up dead in ugly ways. Misinterpreting my hesitation, she lay back on the mattress, stretching. ''Come on, _**boy**_. You want somewhere to sleep it off? You've got to **earn** it.'' Anger did what lust (or the lack thereof) couldn't, firming my joint to full hardness in seconds. I grabbed her wrists, slamming my cock into her with no finesse at all.

''I **am** smarter.'' I told her, thrilling more to the feeling of control I had over her than to the feel of her pussy warm and tight around my dick. Something was off, something more than the usual lack of enjoyment on my part. Maybe I shouldn't be restraining her, giving her an excuse to cry 'rape'? I slid my hands down her arms, bracing my palms on the mattress over her shoulders as I altered my strokes. She gasped, arching involuntarily; completely destroying her pretense of disinterest. Looked like I wasn't going to get charged with sexual assault. Her scornful face reminded me that there were better ways of convincing her than fucking her into agreement. ''I got a ninety-eight percent on my SAT-ones. I'm gonna be going to a private school.'' I shoved harder at each point, gloating both over my future (now that I had one) and the effect (from just my actions? Or my words as well?) I was having on her. ''I have friends, now. People who don't use me; who like me and trust me and have my back.'' She tensed, shaking under me and I sped up; dragging my knuckles down her body to rub circles on her clit. Leaning in, I whispered into her ear as she came: ''I live in a Newport Beach mansion, and there's a girl I know who makes sex with you look like _**nothing**_.'' Even thinking of Taylor made my gut clench hotly, and I spent before I recognized the signs of my approaching climax.

''We'll see about that.'' Theresa shoved me off of her, rolling over to try and work her 'magic' on me.

Only problem was, my body was in shut-down mode; and the alcohol she'd plied me with didn't help. If I'd been into it, I could've gone on all night, regardless. Thing was, I didn't even feel the interest in her that I could muster for my patrons. Her quick-thinking ability to tell a bald-faced lie convincingly didn't even impress me the way it used to. The petty manipulations of this girl were **nothing** compared to the cold-blooded ruthlessness I encountered in Newport. The social scene in that town was seriously cut-throat, although I dis think the story about the woman who'd killed herself over the ribbing she took for wearing the wrong designer to a party was an exaggeration. Even if I discounted my new neighbors; I now knew there were more impressive (Kirsten, Julie, Taylor, Summer) and more frightening (Andersons, Max, Oliver) things out there than her.

Theresa just didn't do it for me any more.

I fell asleep to visions of glinting auburn, flashing hazel; and a smile I couldn't resist.


	3. Job Related

**A/N: ** Refers, very indirectly, to child molesting. Very, very indirectly; but I thought I'd warn everyone, just in case.

--xxx—

………_holding too tightly, afraid to lose control_……

I let the music wash over me, the blows I was throwing into the punching bag becoming part of its rhythm as I worked through the aftermath of my trip to Chino.

Waking up yesterday morning, I'd been a little confused. For a second, I'd thought I'd dreamed the whole thing (Spencer, stripping, Newport) before I'd remembered that my imagination wasn't that good. Hearing someone in the bathroom, I'd been relieved to find Marissa hunched over the toilet; reaping the 'benefits' of drinking herself into a stupor the night before. She was alive, that was all that mattered. I hadn't been feeling any too steady myself, but managed to keep the contents of my stomach where they belonged.

Calling Julie to send a car to pick us up (the original plan had us taking a bus or a cab) had been humiliating, especially when I'd had to confess to losing the two thousand dollars. Funny thing was, she hadn't cared. Turns out, she'd given me the money fully expecting me to take the rest of the **week **to track the girl down. That I'd found her before she could be raped or otherwise done hard by the consequences of running away to Chino; that's all the woman had cared about. She'd considered the funds to be 'well spent' for the speed with which I'd retrieved her daughter. I'd been cleaning up after the seriously out-of-it bitch in the bathroom, feeling relieved about how the situation had fallen out; when I'd found it.

A wedding invitation.

It'd had yesterday's date on it; which meant Eddie was enjoying my sloppy seconds on the first day of his honeymoon right about **now**. It would've been amusing if it hadn't been for the sickening twist of guilt, shame, and even anger in my gut. That she'd used me wasn't surprising: Theresa had been using me for years. Starting with trading kisses for part of her lunch (when Dawn forgot to fill out the forms for the aid program) and advancing until I was finally _fucking_ her for clothes, food; whatever else it was she was willing to trade me for sex. No, the problem I was having was that she'd gotten me **wasted** first. She hadn't **had** to liquor me up to get me into her bed, not with the history between us, the things she knew about me. The only reasons she could've had to get me plastered were to take the money (which she had) and to get me to give up on finding Marissa (which I hadn't).

I'd long since known Theresa was ruthless in her pursuit of what she wanted; but I hadn't thought she'd be willing to sacrifice someone else's safety (stranger or not) just to make it _easier_ for her to manipulate me.

''Hey.'' The music stopped with a soft _click_, making my partner's quiet tone audible. ''You okay?'' I hadn't been in any mood to spend time with anyone yesterday, and he'd had to work last night; so this was the first we'd laid eyes on each other since Julie had sent me on my mission. ''Looks like the trip to Chino turned out all right.'' I shrugged, picking at the wrapped cloth protecting my knuckles. ''You should be happy. You're home-free on the school front and you rescued Momma's little angel without getting a scratch on you.'' The disdainful way he spoke of women wasn't anything new but today, it grated.

Today, I was struggling against the snide little voice in my head that said he was **right**, and no one could be trusted; most especially any **female** of the species.

''She lied to me.'' I ducked my head, concentrating on unwrapping my hands so I wouldn't have to see him gloating.

''About what? Not the scholarship thing……'' Well, it was nice to see he'd changed his opinion about me going to Harbor. When I'd first brought it up, the night I'd learned my test scores; he'd shot me down before I could even utter the word 'scholarship'. Now, he was ready to take on our boss in his assumption that she wasn't giving me the chance she'd promised.

''Not Julie. Theresa.'' Bunching the cloth in my fists, I didn't look up at him as I headed to the hamper; not wanting to see his no-doubt soon-to-be smug expression. ''She got me drunk, damn near kept me from finding Marissa in time, fucked me, stole the money, and then got **married** the very next day; like it didn't even matter.''

''To her, it probably didn't.'' Spencer sounded confused. I caught his shrug out of the corner of my eye. ''Why are you surprised? It's not the first time she's done you dirty, right?'' I shook my head, wiping my palms on my sweat-pants. ''So what's different about this time?''

''She's never put anyone in **danger** before. If I hadn't gotten lucky, Marissa would be some _chulo_'s bitch right now; or worse.'' I finally looked at him, seeing the expected confusion (over my naïveté, no doubt) mixed in with his confidence (that he'd been right about women all along) and a condescending pity. ''I just can't believe she was willing to go so far.'' Had she really needed the money **that** badly? Or had she just taken it out of the long habit of screwing me over?

''**I** can't believe you didn't expect this.'' Raising my eyebrows at him, I waited for him to explain how the hell I could've expected **this**. ''It's what women do, Ry. They use you, they throw you away; and then they trick you back into their clutches before tossing you over again.'' He put a friendly hand on my shoulder, his manner that of a teacher driving home a hard lesson with a prized student. ''That's the best thing about this job: we **get** something out of their screwing with us.''

''Not all women are like our clients, Trey.'' I jerked away, crossing my arms over my chest; wife-beater sticky and damp with sweat. I'd deliberately used his working name (even though we were alone) as well as the hated 'client' (instead of the classier 'patron') because I wanted to drive home the fact I thought he was being an ass. ''Not every woman is an evil bitch.''

''Yes, they are.'' I scowled down at the mat, refusing to meet his gaze. ''Each and every woman is a ruthless, manipulative user who will stab you in the back as soon as look at you.'' He put his hands on my shoulders and shook me a bit, expression sympathetic as he tried to 'get through to me'. ''I don't know where you get these ideas about people, little brother; but you have to let them go. Mrs. Cohen, Alex, Julie, that pathetic nerd chick you meet every Sunday….'' I tensed at the way he described Taylor, feeling heat pounding over my skin. ''…. they'll turn on you.'' I yanked away, hands dropping down to fist at my sides.

''I don't believe that.'' Especially in Taylor's case. Julie was our boss, Kirsten over-protective, and Alex I barely knew; but Taylor? Taylor was my friend, like Seth.

Okay, not _**exactly**_ like Seth; but neither of them wanted anything from me except for me to be myself, and in return I got the precious gift of their friendship.

''Look, I did the same thing when I was getting over my mom's shit, okay? Trying to find a 'good' woman so that you can deal with what your mother allowed to happen to you. I did that, too.'' I swallowed hard, resenting him for bringing this up but unable to speak past the choke-hold memory had on my throat. ''But the fact she stood idly by while her lady friend used you like a dildo won't change just because you **think **you've found a 'real mom'.''

''Kirsten is _**nothing**_ like Dawn.'' Shoving the images his words had conjured to the back of my brain, I resisted the urge to put my fist in his face and re-arrange his teeth. He saved your life, I reminded myself; drawing in calm control with each breath. You owe him the courtesy of not pounding his face in. ''She's a good person.''

''No such thing, little brother.'' Spencer sneered, and the perfect way shut him up was bursting past my tongue before I could check it with my brain.

''Except you, right, Spencer?'' He gaped at me, closing his mouth as he was reminded of the circumstances of our first meeting. I turned away so he wouldn't see how pissed (how disappointed) I still was, tossing over my shoulder: ''I've got to shower and change for my appointment.'' Another reminder; this one being that we weren't **actually** related, and ours was (supposed to be) a partnership of equals. He was **supposed** to be my best friend, too; but it was looking more and more like we were just two people who worked well together.

Had this difference of perception **always** been there? Or was it just the move to Newport and the loss of our freelance status that made everything about our work and our friendship seem so ….tainted? Maybe we were different people here than we'd been in Paradise Hills?

**Something** had definitely changed, and I had the sudden suspicion that it was me.

--xxx—

The door opened and I raised up onto my elbows, breaking my inspection of the ceiling in the hotel room I worked out of to get a good look at my new patron.

She wasn't as old as my others, somewhere between Spencer's age and mine; one of those sultry platinum blondes that seemed to be thick on the ground here. Locking the door behind her, she came over to where I was reclined on the bed; moving her curvaceous body with the practiced grace of a dancer. Nice, and I **should** find her attractive; but I couldn't feel even the diminished surge of lust that I'd been experiencing for the past couple weeks. I sat up, starting to get concerned, and she took **that** as a sign I was ready to begin.

Her lips tasted …….wrong.

Her hands in my hair, body pressing against me, the way she was grinding into my lap. It was all just ….._**wrong**_.

''Wait.'' She either couldn't hear me or was ignoring me, so I leaned back onto my elbows again, hoping she'd take the sudden movement as an indication that something was off. No such luck, because she moved forward, following me down onto the mattress. ''Wait.'' I turned my face to the side, grabbing her hands to keep her from pulling my tee shirt out of my jeans.

''What's the matter?'' She smiled at me teasingly, sitting up so that she settled more solidly on top of my groin. A confused expression crossed her face and she blinked at me in realization of what she **wasn't** feeling pressed upwards through my jeans, between her legs. ''What's wrong?''

''Damned if I know.'' The woman climbed off me and I tried not to sigh my relief too loudly. I'd been trying to mentally jump-start my libido since she walked in, and my failure was really starting to worry me.

''This isn't how this was supposed to go.'' Oddly enough, she didn't sound mad or anything. Just confused, and maybe a little disappointed, but not mad. ''You sure you're not……?'' Oh, for the love of….

''I **like** _women_, okay?'' Even the **thought** of doing the things I usually did at night with a **guy** made me seriously nauseous. I swallowed, trying to keep my dinner in place. ''I just……'' How to explain this without insulting her? Shit. ''I dunno.'' I sat up, putting my face into my hands and trying not to panic. What the hell was I supposed to do for cash **now**? Hustling pool in a town like this didn't seem safe, and I doubted I could afford even the **ante** for the average poker game in Newport Beach.

''This isn't exactly the job interview I imagined.'' My head snapped up, staring at her in amazement. She shrugged, smoothing her black dress back into place and checking her make-up in the mirror. ''Julie said she wanted an honest evaluation of my skills; and you're cute.''

''Julie?'' It would've been a convincing denial if the last syllable hadn't sounded like a mouse on helium. It wasn't enough I had to play search and rescue with her daughter; now I was a fucking (literally) _screening process_?

''I should probably call her.'' I tried to protest, tried to **force** myself to take an interest in the woman; but nothing was working. She was hot, she was willing; but I couldn't feel even the _slightest_ hint of desire for her. None of my usual mental tricks were having any effect; I even slid a hand under my jeans and boxers (an attempt she watched with avid fascination) to try and stir some life into my joint.

Nothing.

''Yeah, go ahead and call her.'' Resigned and depressed, I stood up and went into the bathroom to wash my hands, going through my options. I could try and get work as Marissa's full-time keeper. Unappealing as the job would be, at least it would pay well; and I'd certainly have job security. The thought sounded like Seth, and I smiled to myself. No, I'd be better off just asking for more sets at The Bait Shop. Glancing over from drying my hands, I saw the tight set of my features, the nervousness about facing a woman I'd rejected. I'm not stalling, waiting for her to leave, I mentally told my reflection; I'm just ……debating my choices. When I finally managed to convince myself to go back out into the bedroom, my patron/co-worker had gone. I wasn't relieved, however; because there **was** still a woman in the room.

Julie was sitting on the end of the bed, purse beside her as she turned an expressionless face to me. Locking my knees so I wouldn't collapse, I leaned against the door jamb and shoved my hands into my jeans' pockets. I was probably about to be fired, and thereby lose all the opportunities I'd never thought of even **dreaming **about; but damned if I was going to **show **the fear coursing through me.

''You think this'll interfere with your stripping?'' Irritated, resigned, ticked, annoyed, pitying; **those** were the tones I had been expecting, the tones that were **absent **from her voice. But how could I have predicted tolerant understanding?

''It hasn't yet.'' I shrugged, feeling the prick of unease that maybe it **would**. With things between me and Spencer so tense lately; the loss of income just **might** have me out on my ear. Whatever it was that was wrong with me, my confidence regarding everything else (Spencer, my boss, the security of my life here) was starting to suffer. ''I'm hoping not.''

''If it doesn't, arrange more sets with Alex.'' Julie held out her hand towards me. ''Meantime, give me your key. You can clean out whatever you're keeping and lock the door behind you when you leave.'' I pulled my keys out and worked the one for the room off the ring, handing it over.

''What if it **does** interfere?'' Since I didn't know what was wrong, there was no guarantee it would **stop** with the bedroom half of my job. I was hoping it would, however; because I seriously needed to feel in control **somewhere**, and working the stage always made me feel strong and powerful. That, and I really didn't want to have to give up the charge that I got from performing.

The tips weren't bad, either.

''If it does, there are the topless waiter jobs.'' She was massively unconcerned, dropping my key into her purse and smiling at me with affection. What the fuck? ''Or Gus could always use a hand out at the vehicle lot. Don't worry, Ryan; we'll find you something.'' Some of my massive shock (her attitude was **wildly** off, given her profession and mine) got through to her, because she stopped smiling and took the business tone out of her voice. ''You saved my daughter.'' Her hand snapped up, halting my protest before I could even find the words. She stood, and, for the first time since I'd met her; I saw her without any pretense, completely without artifice. A woman driven to extremes to maintain a quality of life for her daughters; a mother desperately grateful to have the older one safely home again. Julie Cooper stared at me with an intensity, a tenderness, that made me shudder with its similarity to the way Kirsten would occasionally look at me. ''Whatever you need, understand? You want a chance to get into Harbor? I'm doing that. Job? I'll find you one. You decide to join the circus, or become a monk?'' Julie quirked a grin, and I couldn't help but grin back. ''I'd try to talk you out of it, but I'd support you.'' Her palm rested on my cheek and I tried not to twitch at the sense of friendly regard that I got from the contact. The same as what came from hanging with Seth, or having Sandy clap me on the shoulder. ''This isn't something you can make an even trade of favors on. Every day with Marissa from now on is a gift to me, and a debt I owe to you.''

I just stood there as she left, not knowing what to do with her gratitude, with her trust. She gave every impression of thinking that I had no intention of taking advantage of the situation (which I didn't), and realizing that she could **read** me that well was somewhat unsettling. I wasn't **used **to people who took the time and trouble to get to know me without having an ulterior motive. Spencer would say she **did **have a motive, that this gratitude of hers would sour and she was just waiting for a chance to get me back under her thumb.

It was fucked-up when your pimp trusted your people sense more than your partner did.

Shaking off the mood before I could get depressed, I gathered up the spare clothes and toiletries I kept in this place; filling the backpack I carried my sketchbook around in. Potential for spillage had me pulling the liquids back out and dropping them in the unused trash bag in the room's can before re-packing them in with the rest of my stuff. Turning off the lights, I left my 'studio' behind me in more ways than one. A feeling of liberation washed over me as I closed and locked the door, and I headed towards my motorcycle with a much lighter step than the ones that had carried me _**away**_ from the vehicle.

No more having to fuck women I didn't even respect, let alone like. No more pretending to enjoy being used for someone else's pleasure, no more putting up with their demands on my time. Hell, I wouldn't even have to go to the lame-ass parties anymore and tolerate their groping; not unless I wanted to tag along with Seth or something.

I froze in the act of putting my helmet on, the best result of being out of the **fucking** business impacting on my brain with the force of a physical blow. My head reeled, and I grabbed hold of a handlebar to keep upright. Warm electricity ran over my skin, and the enthusiasm I'd been missing since the summer began surged through me like the tide coming in. With the new circumstances of my employment, there was no longer any reason I couldn't go out on an actual, normal, teenage date.

Except, maybe; the possibility of Taylor saying 'no'.

--xxx—

''Wild as these women get, you should think about hiring a bodyguard.'' Doug was a bouncer, and since he was the one of the (wound up being) **five** guys who'd had to keep my admirers from climbing onto the stage after me; he probably wasn't more than half kidding.

''I'll think about it.'' I took my jacket from him, body still tingling from the high of my third set of the night. Alex had been **thrilled **at the opportunity to make even **more** money (horny women drank more than bored ones) by having me perform more often, setting me up with three sets a night, Friday and Saturday; with one or two sets during the week.** I** was just relived that I could still **do **this, and that I still got a charge out of it. ''See you tomorrow.'' I was glad that employee parking was at the other end of the pier; I'd need the walk to come down enough to drive.

''Hey, 'Bad Boy'!'' One of the other dancers hailed me as I passed him, the cigarette between his fingers explaining why he was lingering out back. The new nickname he and his friends had given me (taken from my signature) was a definite improvement over 'Benji', but that didn't mean they **liked** me. Male strippers could be bigger divas than any pop star; and my popularity was a serious blow to their egos and their income. Sometimes, weird as it felt; I really missed Michael and his homo buddies. Friendly rivalry and teasing innuendo (however uncomfortable his leering made me) beat blatant jealousy and snarky comments any day. ''Do me a favor: drive that crotch rocket of yours over a cliff or something, okay?'' I flipped him off, and some of the other people catching a smoke-break snickered.

Turning back towards the end of the pier, I felt the smile (and the blood) drain from my face at the sight of the slim figure standing there, staring at me.

Shit.

''Oh my God.'' Her hazel eyes were wide with hurt, her hands shaking as she put a ridiculously large pair of sunglasses into her purse. The wide brimmed hat she was wearing was trembling, which meant **she** was shaking; and any amusement I had over her outfit (a trench coat? Seriously?) fled when Taylor returned that watery, pained gaze to my face.

''Taylor.'' Somehow, I managed to choke out her name; my stomach an icy pit of dread. This was bad, this was **so** bad; this was **exactly** what I hadn't wanted to happen. ''This isn't …..' All my excuses died before I could voice them, my throat locking in its refusal to put a lie between me and this girl. She closed her eyes, turning away from me and I felt like the world's biggest jackass for the possibility that I'd made her cry. She started to walk away, and the thought that this could potentially be the last time I'd see her unfroze me from my horrified paralysis. ''Taylor. Taylor, wait.'' Chasing after her (she was fast for someone wearing heels), I finally caught up with her at the edge of the parking lot.

''How could you?'' I swallowed, not wanting to get into the whole mess that had led me here; especially as it concerned other people's secrets. How I ended up doing this wasn't a story I **wanted** to tell, not even to her. ''How could you not tell me?'' What?

**That's** what she was upset about, that I hadn't **told** her?

Fuck, Seth was right; she **was** insane.

''What was I supposed to say?'' At least she was talking to me, looking at me the same way she always did; although maybe with a little more irritation than usual. She had a lot of nerve. She'd followed me, _spied_ on me; where did **she** get off being irritated? The words burst out of me, riding this feeling of annoyance I couldn't (and didn't want to) fight back. 'What was I supposed to tell you; that I take off my clothes for money? That I **like** teasing them with a look at what they'll never have?'' Not anymore, anyway. ''That I get off on controlling the crowd? Is that **really **what you want to hear?''

''It's better than a lie.'' Taylor crossed her arms over her chest, glaring. I ignored how much I wanted to kiss her (she looked so **hot**) and concentrated on her words. ''You lied to me.''

''No I didn't.'' My conscious was clear on this one. Anything she'd found out about my job had come from my next-door neighbor and the erroneous assumptions I'd let him make. I hadn't actually outright **lied** to anyone.

''You told Seth you were a janitor!'' She actually stomped her foot, and I had to fight back the urge to kiss her again. Now wasn't exactly the best time, not if I didn't want a slap chaser. ''You told him you weren't a stripper!''

''I told Seth I worked here, that it was illegal for a minor to work as a stripper, and that someone has to mop the floors.'' I shrugged at her outraged expression, sticking my hands in the pockets of my jacket so I could better resist the temptation to take her in my arms and just …..

Nice to know that my recent 'dysfunction' hadn't had any lasting effects, although it **did** seem to have turbo-charged my sex drive.

Not that it needed it, where this (smoking hottie) girl was concerned.

''Okay, I'll grant you that all of that's true. It's just….'' I almost groaned at the image she made, biting her lip like that. My joint stirred to life and I gritted my teeth, promising myself a nice long session (several even) with Rosy and her sisters if I could just stay in control **now**. ''Ryan, did you really think that I'd be mad at you?''

''You **are** mad.'' And hotter than hell, but I was trying not to think of** that**.

''Because you didn't tell me!'' Taylor threw up her hands, turning away from me, then turning back. She was obviously frustrated, but all** I** could think about was how **tight **her eyes _flashing_ like that was making my jeans.

''I'm sorry?'' Apologies were always good, in dealing with girls. I vaguely remembered that from an overheard locker conversation these guys at Chino Hills were having about their girlfriends. When in doubt: apologize.

''You're sorry.' The corner of her mouth twitched up, despite her irritated tone of voice; so it looked like the apology had definitely been the way to go. She was shaking her head, though; so maybe it hadn't been. Damn, but girls were confusing. ''What are you apologizing for?'' Great. **She** was the one who was mad, but she wanted **me** to figure it out.

And she was crazy, which meant I was** really** screwed.

''Not telling you?'' That had been why she **said** she was mad, right? Because I hadn't told her? Again, a good theory ruined by the side-to-side motion of her head. I frowned, trying to focus on everything she'd said since I'd spotted her and sighed. ''Not telling the complete truth isn't lying, Taylor.''

''It's called lying by _omission_, Ryan.'' I was about to tell her what a lousy liar I was, which meant I had to keep secrets by this omission thing; when she put her palm against my cheek. It was the same move (although thankfully not the same cheek) Julie had used, during my non-firing, last night; but it felt **completely** different. Fire flared out from where her skin was touching mine and I had to close my eyes, shaking with the struggle not to throw her up against the car (or bend her over my motorcycle) and have my way with her. ''You are sorry, right?'' I nodded agreement to that soft voice, licking my lips and holding myself back from jumping on the girl with sheer, stubborn force of will. ''And you won't do it again?'' I had to pause, measuring what the correct response was through the fog of hormones flooding my brain, before I was finally able to shake my head. ''Thank you.''

Her lips were on my cheek.

I froze, fighting back the urge to make the soft peck something more, eyes snapping open centuries (mere seconds) later to see her scrambling into her car; this huge smile on her face. Somehow, I managed to smile back, standing there with every nerve ending in my body calling me ten kinds of _**idiot**_ for not taking her when I had the chance, for not pursuing her now. Once she'd pulled out of sight, I let go with the groan, slumping down to sit on the parking berm, head in my hands.

Weighing the potential damage I could do to my pecker if I applied ice directly to my ….problem ……against the hours of jacking off I'd have to put in before I could sleep.


	4. Fireworks

**A/N: **Much thanks to my reviewers and their patience. Some facts are most likely wrong; but I'm pleading the fifth and claiming writer's prerogative, so there. :P

Hey, sorry about the wait. Having to re-write this five times b/c I got stuck really blew.

--xxx—

''Ryan!'' Sandy stepped aside to let me in, his smile of welcome undiminished by the curiosity making his caterpillar eyebrows dance. My friend was hoping that they weren't hereditary, while I usually just hoped they were firmly attached. ''Seth's giving a sailing lesson right now; you just missed him, in fact.''

''I know.'' I rubbed the back of my neck nervously, trying not to fidget in the foyer. I **knew** Seth wasn't here; I'd deliberately waited until he went down to the marina, until his mother had left for her Saturday luncheon with her friends (including my boss) at the Yacht Club. ''I kinda need to talk to **you**, anyway.''

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. My best friend was going to be upset when he found out I'd shared a secret with his father before I told him about it. And Spencer would be pissed if he ever discovered I'd been talking to a lawyer about anything more serious than the weather. I didn't really have any choice, though. There was literally no one else who could help me with the situation I was in.

''Let's go into the den, okay?'' I followed him into the room where his son often attempted to further my 'anime education', the knot in my gut making it easy to refuse his offer of refreshment. He shut off the Playstation with a rueful grin and a shrug. ''Don't tell Seth. I'm trying to get good enough to beat him at that samurai game.''

''Good luck. I think he practices that thing in his sleep.'' That earned me a chuckle and the tension eased out of the room a bit. Not entirely; the stiff way the man was sitting in his chair gave evidence to that.

''So.'' He leaned forward, grey eyes piercingly kind. ''I have to ask: is it some kind of legal trouble?'' Shaking my head 'no' caused him to relax back into his seat, his body language no longer tense. ''You and Seth have a fight? No?'' He confirmed my head shake, grinning as he shook his own. ''I didn't really think so. He would've told us.''

''And everyone else in town.'' Sandy snorted, acknowledging the other boy's inability to keep anything (opinions, secrets, daily events) to himself. ''No, it's…..'' My throat locked and I cleared it, trying not to cough. ''I'd talk to Seth, but ……'' Again, I ran out of words. ''I just thought…….'' Frustrated with my inability to complete a fucking sentence, I put my head in my hands and seriously considered pulling my hair out.

''It's a girl, isn't it?'' Shocked, I snapped my head up to find him grinning at me with a smug expression. ''You've got that same 'hit over the head with a brick' look my son had when he came home and told us he'd found a girl that was 'cootie-immune'.''

''What the hell's a 'cootie'?'' Okay, not the best question in the world, but I was too stunned by return of his ability to read my mind. I'd chalked up his previous (unsettling) insight to coincidence or good guessing; but it was starting to look like he really **was **that perceptive.

'' 'Cooties' are what girls have before they hit puberty, when boys still think they're 'gross'.'' Rather than condescending, he managed to sound regretful that I hadn't gone through such a phase. With my upbringing, though; it wasn't really feasible.

For most of my life, people had fallen into either the 'dangerous' or 'useful' categories. Parsing them out any further than that just wasn't possible, because I hadn't thought there **were **any other categories to divide them **into**. Until Spence, there wasn't even a 'trusted' section and, until we moved here; other sections (liked, friends, parental figures) just flat out didn't exist, not even theoretically.

''Summer, right?'' Sandy nodded, confirming that the 'immune' chick was the same one his son was **still** obsessed with. Obsessed with, but never spoken to; which was why I was having (trying to have) this conversation with the older Cohen.

''Who is she? The girl you're interested in.'' The whorls in the wood of the coffee table were suddenly fascinating, giving me something to focus on as I tried to think of words to describe _**her**_. As if mere words stood a **chance** of describing her. I guess I was silent too long, because after a while, he tried again to get me to speak. ''All right, then; let's start simple. What's her name?'' That made me smile, remembering the first time she'd told me her name, and the little speech about not being able to 'know' someone just by learning their 'labels'.

''Taylor Townsend.'' Saying those syllables aloud called her image instantly to mind, which had the potential to make the rest of the conversation **very** uncomfortable. Fortunately, my imagination kept it PG; and the girl that appeared behind my eyelids was fully clothed. ''I don't think you know her.'' I don't think anyone did, really; but, **man**, did I want to try.

''Well, we've never met; but Seth's told me about her joining the two of you for lunch, during the last few weeks of school.'' Sandy sounded ….calm, so I risked a glance. He appeared approving, if somewhat confused. ''She sounds nice. We'd be willing to chaperone, if you want to invite her for dinner sometime.'' Relief flooded through me at the opportunity, and I lost no time in taking the chance to have some of my questions answered.

''Is that how you start? With dinner?'' It seemed a little soon, to me. Dinner with the family, even if they weren't **my** family; that was fairly advanced, dating wise, wasn't it? I thought so, but then again; I wasn't what you'd call an expert, and I didn't have a lot of faith in what popular culture could tell me. ''Should I cook?''

''You've never dated before?'' I shook my head, wondering why he was surprised. Given the chatter monkey who lived in this house, I guess I just expected him to be able to quote any conversation Seth and I had ever had verbatim. ''Seth said you had a lot of ……experience?'' While it was nice to know my friend (and his mother, but I was trying to forget she'd heard **that** discussion) hadn't blabbed to Sandy about the things I'd told the kid, I was kind of wishing he **had**, right now. At least then, I could avoid the humiliating turn this was taking. ''Quite the ladies' man, he said.''

''That doesn't necessarily translate into **dating**, Sandy.'' I mumbled it at the carpet. How come no one had shag anymore? If it was shag, there was a chance it could swallow me whole and spare me the path this talk was headed down.

''So you're here for advice on how to ask her out; things like that.'' He changed the subject, looking to be just as relieved as I was to avoid discussing my sex life. More accurately, sex history; as I intended to things differently from now on. There was a question implicit in his words, though, and I answered it **very** carefully.

''Trey has…..issues.'' Shit, I hoped that wasn't enough to hint him into figuring things out. Risking our cover (by admitting Spencer wasn't my brother) was one thing: but cluing someone in to the things that lived in our childhoods was something my partner would **never **forgive me for. ''And Taylor's…….''

''Special.'' His smile was smug, just barely this side of condescending. I was still glad it was him, however, and not Kirsten. She thought her son's crush on Summer was 'adorable' and I really didn't want to hear her opinion on …..whatever the hell this was …..between me and Taylor. Having her husband smile at me like some doting auntie was bad enough without her gushing over how 'cute' it was that I was thinking (couldn't stop thinking) about dating (among other things) the auburn intoxication that called herself 'Taylor'.

''I was going to say 'insane', but 'special' works, too.'' Snorting in amusement, he shifted forward in his seat. I changed position myself, hoping he was now ready to tell me how to handle this.

''I don't really know how to help you.'' Well, fucking **great**. If **he** couldn't, then it was completely hopeless. Spencer wouldn't help, Seth couldn't; I didn't want Julie knowing about it and Alex ……well, Alex was potential competition. And there went my list of people to ask. I suppose I **could** ask Kirsten, but even the thought of approaching her on **this** subject (with the carnal knowledge I had about some of her friends) made chills run up my spine. ''I haven't dated in years, and Kirsten's nothing like what Seth tells us about Taylor.'' Oh. Well, at least he was honest. ''Generally speaking? I'd say find some common ground and try to build on it.''

''Already there.'' This was incredibly frustrating. I was finally free to pursue what (or rather, who) I wanted, and I couldn't **do** it because I didn't know **how**. Sunrise tomorrow was going to be incredibly tense (for me if not for her) if I couldn't figure out a way to broach the subject. Okay, yes; **she'd** probably bring it up, but I wanted her to know that I'd been thinking about it too. I didn't want her to have to prompt me, and doubt whether or not I'd've said anything if she hadn't done so first.

''Well, good. That's good.'' I gave him a dark look, obviously conveying my annoyance with how **un**helpful he was being, because he nodded like I'd actually said something. ''There's the classic dinner-and-a-movie, or the slightly more expensive dinner-and-a-show.'' Fuck, expenses. That's right, dating cost **money**. It wasn't that I didn't have it, it was just that I didn't want to explain to my 'brother' why I was suddenly taking out hunks of cash; especially since I wasn't going to be earning as much as I had been. Reading my mind again, Sandy went on: ''The country club hosts an event every month or so. In fact, they're having a barbeque to benefit The National Literacy Foundation in a couple of weeks.'' That sounded good, great in fact. The cause was one I could actually get behind, with no bad memories associated with it; and I knew for a fact Spencer made monthly donations to The United Way and a couple other like organizations. He'd have no problem with me attending a charity function; he wouldn't even ask questions if I mentioned Seth would be there. He'd occasionally joked (badly) that I should start charging the Cohens for bodyguard services; so I knew he wouldn't look to closely at my going to this thing.

Then the dates clicked in my head and I frowned.

''Isn't that the Fourth of July?'' I wasn't too worried about being able to get it off. Whenever there was an 'event' in this place, the popular bars and hang-outs turned into fucking ghost towns. It was the main reason why Julie had waited to open the Bait Shop until summer; because there were fewer 'galas' during the tourist season.

''Yes, but the Newpsies aren't what you'd call patriotic; so they just call it a barbeque, pick a charity, and pretend they're not total hypocrites when they set off the fireworks.'' He sounded sour, but I knew he'd be there. If he wasn't already going to make his wife happy, or to support the charity; I knew he'd find a way to attend and give me the moral back-up for my first date.

So I had a plan, I even had someone to keep me from screwing it up. Now came the really hard part.

Asking Taylor to go out with me.

--xxx—

''I can't believe they **fell** for that.''

''They were really, _really_ drunk. Or stoned. Or both, even.''

Taylor giggled and I decided that sharing my 'Chino adventures' with her had been the best idea, ever. The rumor mill had seized onto my going back to the old neighborhood to retrieve Marissa, blowing the whole thing **way **out of proportion. There was even a story going around that we'd eloped, which was beyond ludicrous; but apparently plausible to enough (morons) people to make the girl I actually **was** interested in nervous. So I'd told her the truth. I hadn't even had to lie by _omission_, because Spencer had that convenient cover job working for Julie at NewMatch; which explained not only how I knew the Coopers but how **they** knew where I was from. Her not going to the authorities wasn't that strange, as **none **of the parents in Newport Beach called the cops when their precious brats got into trouble. Lawyers, personal security, their political friends? Hell, yes. Cops? Not so much.

So I'd regaled her with the details of my excursion, even covering the embarrassing matter of how wasted I'd gotten and how I'd woken up in Theresa's bed. She put it together from there, and I could tell she didn't want any further information about **that** part of it. I didn't want to dwell on it any further myself. It wasn't exactly setting the mood for the question that had been rattling around my brain since I'd sat down on the bench next to her. I should've gone with my first instinct, and just blurted it out; but I hadn't wanted to disturb the serenity of the moments we shared, when the sun was rising. Before I could get the nerve up to turn to her and ask about a date, she'd expressed concern for Marissa, wanting to know if the bitch had gotten home all right. It was amazing, how worried she'd been about someone she didn't even know. Reassuring her was easy, since the idiot in question had been spotted shopping with no obvious ill effects a few days ago. Her relieved excitement over the reward (help getting into Harbor) I was getting in return for my efforts on behalf of the Cooper women made me smile; something she seemed to bring out in me a lot.

She'd actually clapped her hands and said 'yay'; looking so sweet and delectable that I wished I dared to kiss her.

We were in public, however; and once I started, I had the feeling it would be very, **very **hard to stop.

''Julie's not going to make you pay back the money, is she?'' Trust Taylor to know that the issue of the lost two grand was preying on my mind. I just couldn't forget it, as my boss (and my partner) had urged me. Money had been too great a factor for too long for me to just set it aside.

''No. I think she sees it as well worth the expense to have her daughter back.'' She nodded, biting her lip, and I could practically **hear** her wishing that her own (mostly absentee) mother was that maternal. Taking a risk, I put my hand over hers, where it was lying on the back of the bench.

Her intake of breath told me she felt the same sweet fire (or something similar) rushing through her that I had flowing across **my** skin. I kept rubbing my thumb soothingly over hers, waiting; betting with myself. Sure enough: eventually the erotic spark of the contact eased off into the friendlier warmth I'd felt when she'd first held my hand (instead of briefly shaking it), a couple weeks ago. Remembering what we'd been talking about that morning made me smile again; because returning to **that** subject was a great bridge between what we'd just **been **discussing and what I seriously couldn't **wait** to get into.

''I can't believe people get **up** this early.'' A voice behind me complained, yawning halfway through the sentence. Turning, I bit my tongue on the nasty things I wanted to say to the girl standing there. ''You two are a couple of _**freaks**_, you know that?'' In a weird way, I got the feeling she was paying us a compliment.

''Kaitlyn?'' Of all the people I'd expected to see here, she was definitely the last. Some possible reasons for her presence occurred to me and I scowled at her. ''If your sister's high-tailed it to South Central or TJ or something; tell your mom I'm out of the search-and-rescue business.'' I was bluffing, and I think we all knew it. If there really **was** a problem, I was very much aware that I wouldn't be capable of not at least **trying** to do something about it.

Spence was right, sometimes I **was** a total fucking idiot.

''No, Marissa's fine.'' The way she quirked her mouth let me know she was amused by my opinion of her sister. An opinion I was desperately glad she hadn't shared with her mother, as I doubted I'd be reaping the benefits or her gratitude (being able to quit the bedroom part of my job, for starters) if she had any inkling how much I **didn't** care about Marissa. ''Since I never see you at my Mom's parties anymore, I had to hunt you down to settle our debt.'' Oh, **fuck**. I'd been so ecstatic about not having to attend those things anymore (a side-effect of my 'retiring', as Julie didn't want to 'show meat that wasn't for sale') that I'd completely forgotten about my arrangement (keeping her sister away from me at said gatherings) with the youngest Cooper.

''Debt?'' Taylor looked curious, nothing more. Not hurt I hadn't told her, or pissed because of conclusions she jumped to; just wondering what we were talking about.

She was terrific.

''So **this** is why you're immune to my sister's 'charms'.'' Kaitlyn crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing the older girl with a speculative eye. ''Nice. She's hot.'' My bench-mate and I blushed nearly in unison; which was weird, because I'd thought, after the 'work' I'd done, that I'd never be able to blush again.

''Taylor Townsend, Kaitlyn Cooper.'' The two girls shook hands, and I tried not to sound like a whiny bitch when I asked: ''What do you want, Kaitlyn?''

Damn. Still came off like a petulant toddler.

Still, it was only to be expected. Sunday mornings, watching the sun rise with the auburn beauty beside me: it was one of the few times I felt completely at peace.

And this kid was interfering with that.

''I want you to convince my Mom to let me have a motorcycle.'' So much for her favor being something I could easily handle.

''Sure.'' I snorted disbelief, shaking my head. ''I'll get right on that as soon as I learn to _walk on __**water**_.'' Julie had gotten a scare with Marissa's behavior. She hadn't hired bodyguards to follow her girls around, but she **had** revoked their driving privileges (learner's permit in the younger's case) and restricted the parties they were allowed to attend (excepting those she and the country club threw) to the ones on weekends **only**.

''Don't be so negative, Ryan.'' Taylor stood, dusting the back of her slacks off as she did so. A movement I couldn't help but have an abiding interest in, causing the other girl to smirk and raise her eyebrows at me teasingly. ''I'm sure we can come up with some convincing arguments. I'm not captain of the debate team for nothing.''

''Yeah, Ryan.'' Still smirking, she took a stance next to the older girl, her expression daring me to argue with them. ''Listen to your girlfriend.''

''She's not…..'' Glaring, I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and stood. I tried to tell myself I wasn't sulking at the thought of spending this morning on Kaitlyn's 'favor', instead of on the **far** more important matter of asking the other girl to go out with me; but, from the looks on their faces, I was giving a fairly good impression of a five-year-old denied cake on his birthday. ''I don't…….'' I may not know much about the dating thing, but I **did** know that you didn't claim a closer relationship with a girl than she was willing to admit to.

''We're not dating, sweetie.'' She sounded disappointed, and I cursed inwardly. If only I'd brought it up sooner, instead of wasting time with that stupid Chino story. Then we'd either have a date, or we wouldn't be friends anymore. ''We're just friends.'' Well, that was a relief (kind of); she still wanted to be friends.

''Damn, Atwood, what's your problem?'' Like it was any of **her** business. I didn't see her butting out, though; not with that teasing light in her eyes.

This must be what having a kid sister is like, I thought irritably.

''Little brats popping in and demanding favors.'' Was what I said. Both sets of hazel eyes widened, and I braced myself for their anger. I'd set out to get a date, my first actual **date**, and instead ended up pissing off not only the girl I **wanted**, but my boss's daughter.

Smooth one, Ry.

''Ryan. You were going to ask me out?'' Strange, she didn't sound ticked. She sounded, in fact, sympathetic. Oh, great. She was going to 'let me down easy' and ask if we could 'still be friends'. I nodded, swallowing my disappointment and trying not to blame Kaitlyn for being a witness. ''Where did you want to go?'' So she wanted to make sure to avoid me, fantastic.

''The barbeque at the club. For the Fourth.'' Shrugging, I kept my voice to a mumble and my eyes on their feet; not wanting to see the pity in either face. Taylor shouldn't be worried about avoiding me. After this, it was doubtful I'd leave the house for anything but work (and dinner with the Cohens) **ever again**.

''That sounds nice.'' Shocked, I brought my head up and caught her lips on my cheek for the second time. Just like before, the contact shot through my system like lightning; threatening my control as I fought _take her in my arms, christen our bench _against the lust surging through me. ''I'll have to meet you there, though. My mother is making one of her appearances, and I have to ride in with her.''

''Yeah?'' Okay , that came out a little more strangled-sounding than I would've liked. Especially with Kaitlyn smirking at me like a cat in a whole cage full of canaries. ''Yeah, okay.'' I convinced my feet to move, taking me the few short steps forward to take the other girl's hand. Risking the charge to my libido was worth the bright, hazel sunshine that she aimed at me. ''It's a date.'' The words made it real, and I couldn't help the smile of pure joy when she nodded confirmation.

''It's a date.'' Her smile was blinding, and the squeeze she gave to my fingers was making it somewhat difficult to breathe past the conflict between the gentle warmth of her regard and the fiery pleasure of her touch. ''My first date.''

''Mine, too.'' If anything, her smile got even wider and more beautiful. We might've stood there all day, it our (unwanted) third wheel hadn't spoken up.

''I think I'm gonna hurl.''

--xxx—

''You've got more guts than I do.'' I gave Seth a glare out of the corner of one eye, wishing he'd just stop already. ''Just saying: Veronica Townsend? More of a challenge than** I'd** take on.''

Ever since he'd found out I was meeting Taylor at this thing, he'd been all over the 'relationship'; asking me question after question until I was ready to snap his nosy little neck. The **worst **thing about his prying was that it was actually **helping** me get things clearer in my own mind, so I really didn't **want** him to stop, annoying as it was. His declarations that he'd 'known it all along', however, I could **definitely** do without.

I wanted her, there was no denying **that**. But was sex all there was to it? After a week's worth of video game conversations, I didn't think so. I liked too much about her that **didn't** involve getting her naked (thought the appeal of **that** was intensifying) to make **that** theory valid. So what **did** I want from her? I wanted to continue our sunrise discussions, to have her be a constant presence in my life, to go to school with her, to invite her over for family dinner (even if it wasn't **my** family); to take her out like a **normal **guy would. Seth said this meant I wanted her to be my girlfriend. I suppose that might be true, given that I was willing to face off against the woman I'd overheard Kirsten (when Seth had blurted out who I was meeting, during last Sunday's meal) refer to as 'a total bitch' in order to date her.

Thing was, I couldn't **tell** her any of this until I **found** her.

''Maybe we should split up.'' I suggested, watching the mass of Newport residents milling about the courtyard of the country club. What with all the blondes around here, a girl with auburn hair should be easy to spot. But the torches and the twilight was starting to make it hard to pick out details, and I **really** wanted to find her before any of my former patrons decided to come over and talk to me.

''Good idea. I'll signal you if I spot the evil enchantress.'' Seth nodded at me, moving his hands around in what I guessed was supposed to be some sort of attempt at sign language. I ducked my head so he couldn't see my amused grin and found a secluded corner near the bar to observe the party from.

''Hey, Chino.'' I managed not to sigh, but I wasn't able to keep from rolling my eyes. Apparently, this corner wasn't quite secluded **enough**. My own fault for picking a spot near the bar, given the amount of booze this town could put away.

''Summer.'' Not exactly the Newport girl I'd wanted to talk to. I craned my neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Taylor in the crowd.

Nothing.

''So. Coop told me about your trip back to the homeland.'' I snorted, focusing my full attention on the brunette for the first time. She looked great, I'd give her that. She also looked like she was mad about something. Probably the rumors the Cooper girl (the dumb one) was spreading about me. I wondered idly what the new version was about. Crazed orgies? Shoot-outs with a drug gang?

A depraved cult of women who needed to sacrifice a virgin girl so they could maintain their youthful appearance?

Whoa.

Okay, I was spending **way **too much time with Seth.

''You shouldn't believe everything that ….girl …..tells you.'' I didn't want to risk the scene I knew she'd create if I referred to the stupid bitch who was her best friend in the less than polite terms I used in my head.

''So you didn't save her from a bunch of thugged-out drunken Latinos?'' I let my surprise reach my face, amazed that Marissa had told the truth. Even more amazed that she'd remembered, since she'd been far more smashed than anyone else (including me) I'd seen that night. ''Right. That's what I thought. That was a nice thing to do.'' She really seemed to mean it, and I nodded my thanks warily, unsure of just what this was about. ''I just wanted to say 'thank you'. You know, for helping my best friend out of trouble when you don't even like her.''

''Who told you that?'' It couldn't be Taylor. She avoided the popular crowd like the plague, although she **had** mentioned that Summer was 'the best of a bad lot'. Julie was out because she didn't know, and Seth never spoke to the object of his affection ……wait. No, it couldn't have been.

''Coop did.'' Looked like it was. I would've been impressed at this further evidence of the other girl's honesty, if I didn't get the feeling she'd confessed my distaste for her presence to gain sympathy. Of course, I could be wrong about **that**, too. ''Not in so many words, but I read between the lines.'' Yeah, it appeared that my first impression (crazed moron with delusions of romance) of the blonde girl was correct.

''Her mother is my brother's boss.'' Realization came into her eyes and I breathed an internal sigh of relief at the death of any 'Ryan the hero' rumors. Marissa could spread all the sappy gossip she wanted; but, when she went back to her boarding school, it would be **this** girl who ruled our peers. ''She paid off my motorcycle for it.'' That had been a shock, receiving the pink slip in the mail like that. Payment, Julie had said, when I'd called her in confusion, for my staying out of the rumor mill's grinding of her daughter.

''Must be nice to have a friend like that.'' Opening my mouth to protest that Mrs. Cooper wasn't my **friend**, I saw the envy flare up past the loneliness in her brown eyes. ''To have a friend like you.'' It was familiar, that look. Even down to the color of the soulful gaze. Seth gave me that look, sometimes, when he thought I couldn't see. Not so much envy in his, but still that same despairing sense of abandonment that hit me right in the gut.

''Give me your phone.'' I held out my hand for it, glancing around to make sure we weren't being watched. All I needed was for one of these rich snobs to accuse me of mugging someone.

''What for?'' She was digging it out of her purse, so I ignored the question, flipping it open to program in the number. ''You're giving me your digits?'' Excitement colored her voice, but it was the kind of excitement women had when I was on stage, not the happy (more preferable) enthusiasm Taylor had when I talked about attending Harbor with her and Seth in the fall.

''No. Seth's.'' Summer tried to snatch her phone back and I moved it out of her reach.

''I don't **want** Cohen's number.'' Her face was crinkled with forced disgust (which told me a lot about her real feelings), but I still had to remind myself she wasn't as shallow as she was coming off. If she **was**, she would never have come over to thank me, or seen through the web of lies her friend was spinning where I was concerned.

''I don't know how long I'll be in town.'' The words made my stomach clench painfully _Seth, Sandy, Kirsten, __**Taylor**_ but I gritted my teeth and went on. ''If you ever need anything, and I mean **anything**; he'll make it happen. Or his parents will.'' I held out the cell almost as a challenge, my respect for her going up a notch or two when she took it.

''It says 'friend'.''

''I figured you wouldn't want your clique to know you had his number.''

--xxx—

''Summer's not going to call **right away**.'' My tone was harsher than I would've liked, harsher then Seth's constant checking of his phone actually warranted. None of the Cohens called me on it, though; because they knew the real reason behind my irritation.

Taylor hadn't showed.

They were clearing the buffet tables and motioning people outside for the fireworks, and she **still** hadn't showed. A discreet questioning of the staff by Kirsten had revealed that Veronica wasn't on the list of those who had made a donation (the only way to get invited to these things), which meant that Taylor was at some** other** party (I refused to believe she'd lied to me), trapped in a room with her mother. The food, what little of it I'd been able to eat, sat in my stomach like a pile of rocks, because the girl had told me enough about the woman for me to know what **that** meant. For all intents and purposes, emotionally speaking; she was being tortured.

''Maybe you should try calling her again.'' Sandy suggested, grey eyes kind as he motioned our group towards to stairs. Chairs were being set up at the beginning of the golf course, the better to appreciate the display that I no longer had any interest in watching.

''It just goes to voice-mail.'' That's what was really bugging me, challenging my belief in Taylor's sincerity; that I couldn't contact her. If I could just hear her voice, hear her say she'd **wanted** to come; I'd be fine. As it was, depressing nightmare scenarios kept playing out in my head. ''I think I'm gonna go over to her house.'' It shouldn't be too hard to get directions (Julie would know, if I got that desperate) and, if she wasn't there, I could always ask her maid (or whatever) where Veronica had taken her.

''Need some company?'' Seth may have been distracted by the fact that his dream girl now had his cell number, but that didn't seem to deter him from his willingness to give whatever assistance he could to my pursuit of the much-feared Veronica Townsend's daughter. His approval was nice, better than Spencer's disgusted head-shaking as I'd left the house earlier that evening.

''I'm good.'' The possibility that she'd changed her mind about dating a stripper was remote, but it was **still** possible. If she had, I didn't want my friend to see me humiliated by whatever she'd find to say in her rejection. If she hadn't, I didn't want him hanging around and being a third wheel. ''You stick close in case Summer needs a friend.'' He nodded enthusiastically, checking his phone again.

''Good luck.'' Kirsten smiled at me, her expression grateful as she put a hand on her son's shoulder. That she appreciated what I'd done for the guy was obvious, as was her sympathy for the disaster my first date was turning out to be.

I shrugged, still a little uncomfortable with her. Screwing her friends for money apparently made me a bit twitchy around the woman, even if I was no longer doing it. The way she looked at me, like I was this nice, normal guy who'd decided to be friends with her boy …..it just made me feel guilty, sometimes. I wasn't used to women who weren't undressing me with their eyes, who treated me like I was just a teenager. **All** the Cohens made me nervous sometimes, what with the way they made me feel so welcome, so much a part of their lives; never asking me for anything in return.

''Why **can't** you take a credit card? This is a charity function, you should be able to accept **anything** in order to further the cause!'' My shoes no longer held my attention, the familiar voice arguing with the valet drawing my gaze towards the front door. I stuck to the darker parts of the hallway, so she wouldn't see me right away. ''I used all my cash on the taxi, and there's no ATM's around. Can't you just make an exception?'' The guy in the red jacket shook his head, spreading his hands to demonstrate how little control he had over the rules. ''Don't you understand? This is **important**. This is a first date! You're going to be directly responsible for our being alone and miserable when we're old and grey, wondering what happened, calling curses down on your head for your blind obedience to the strict……''

Damn. Even when she was choked up, she could still rant with the best of them.

And how was it fair that she was so _**hot**_ when she got upset? How was I supposed to be able to resist her when she didn't have a look I didn't like?

''Hey, Taylor.'' Her whole face lit up when she saw me, which made the hours I'd spent agonizing over why she wasn't here completely worth it. All my doubts about why she was late vanished like dope at a drug bust.

''Excuse me, sir; is this your guest?'' That he was calling **me**, a kid from Chino, **sir**, while denying entry to a girl that had more right to be in this elegant building than anyone……as Seth would say, what a** schmuck**.

''Yes, she is.'' I decided to get him back, a little, for how he'd been treating Taylor. ''Is there a problem?'' The chill tone of my voice was borrowed from watching Julie take people (usually erring staff or co-workers – **former **co-workers) apart with icy disdain.

''No sir.'' He wanted to come back at me, challenge my right to invite** anyone** inside, I could tell; but the memory of who I'd been seated with was heavy in his eyes. It'd take a braver man than **he** was to face off against either Kirsten or Sandy Cohen. ''Everything's fine.'' The arm he held out to indicate which side she should pass him on was stiff; but at least he wasn't in the way anymore, so I was spared the hassle of busting his nose for him.

''Thank you.'' She sounded cheerful, not like she'd been pleading with his stubborn ass for the past …..however long. Her smile was even friendly, not the slightest bit forced. Obviously, **she'd** forgiven him for his obstinance, which made her a better person than I was. **I** was memorizing his face and promising to make him pay for her frustration if I ever had the chance. Maybe he had a car whose tires I could let the air out of. Maybe he had a girlfriend I could tell about the redhead (non-existent, but 'hot') whose face he'd been attached to by the lips. ''I'm so sorry.'' Taylor taking my hand distracted me from my somewhat juvenile (perfectly justifiable) fantasies; all else fading in my attempt not to let the erotic warmth traveling up my arm effect me. ''I didn't know it wasn't **this **party she was taking me to until we were in the car, and she didn't let me bring my cell phone, and it took **forever** to convince her I had a migraine so I could leave…..''

''Why didn't you just tell her you had a date?'' It seemed like the obvious solution, to me. From what she'd told me, her mother should've been **ecstatic** to discover her daughter was dating; was making friends. So why hadn't the girl tried that tack? Maybe because the friends she was making (the boy she was dating) weren't good enough?

''I **did**.'' She shrugged and looked away. I could feel the tension in her fingers, hear the disappointment in her voice. ''She didn't believe me.'' What a **bitch**, I thought, but didn't say. During Taylor's long discussion of her mother's less than positive opinions about her, I'd only tried to insult the woman once. The lecture I'd gotten about family loyalty and how Veronica was just trying to make her daughter 'strong and self-reliant' (doubtful, but I could tell the theory comforted her) still made my ears burn.

Yeah, that once had been enough.

''You…..'' The lack of any noise whatsoever clued me in, my quick glance caught quite a few of the staff blatantly listening as they cleaned up from the dinner half of the evening. No. I wasn't having this conversation be all over town (blown out of any kind of proportion) by sunrise. ''Come on.'' There was a small balcony that looked out over the golf course; too small for even a single table, which was why it wasn't being used as a viewing locale for the incipient fireworks. I'd spotted a couple guys taking a cigarette-break here, earlier, while I was freaking out and wishing I still smoked so I could take the edge off. I released her to shut the curtained doors behind us, getting a soft smile at my sudden desire for privacy. I suppose it **was** somewhat funny. I took my clothes off in public for money, and I didn't want people watching me talk to a girl. Speaking of which, I should say something. ''You look amazing.'' That was good, right? Girls liked to be told stuff about how they looked.

''You don't have to say that.'' She dropped her gaze to her hands, twisting them together nervously. I took in her outfit, wondering what her mother had found to gripe about; skunking my chances of giving this girl a simple compliment. The off-white, sleeveless blouse and pleated tan skirt looked fine to me; as did the body wearing them. More than fine, actually; but I was trying to keep my mind away from ……..damn. Naked Taylor in my head again. ''I know it's traditional, but it's really not necessary.''

''I don't know anything about tradition.'' Mostly because Sandy had refused to coach me, the jerk; saying I'd have better luck being myself. Fat lot he knew. Desperate to keep her from parroting her mother's criticism, I cupped my hands around her shoulders; ignoring the jolt to my hormones at the contact in my desire to convince her she **was** attractive, fun, smart, compassionate and sexy as hell. ''I just know what I like.'' Her cheek was satin-soft under my palm (when had I moved my hand?); her hazel eyes huge as I stepped in close. ''And I like **you**.''

''That's almost eloquent, Ryan.'' She licked her lips, drawing my gaze like a magnet. Her touch was gentle on my knuckles; but she made no move to drag my hand from her face. Good, because I was seriously considering standing here like this for the rest of the night. ''A little unexpected, considering the source.'' I liked how she teased me, her tone intimate and light and mine alone.

''I save it for when it's important.'' Taylor was obviously stunned at my implication that this, that _**she**_, was important. She was right, though; I **was** more inclined towards actions than words.

So I kissed her.

There had to be a God. **Had** to be. Only a divine being could create something that felt **this** good, this **perfect**, this _**right**_. One slender arm wrapped around my ribs to clutch at my back, the other resting on my shoulder as she dug her fingers into my hair. **Her** hair was silk between my own fingers, my other hand splayed across the small of her back. There was **nothing** to compare to this feeling, this warm and heady thrill of electricity traveling all over me, through me; not fading even when we finally parted for desperate gulps of air. Our bodies were still pressed together, leaning into each heavily as we both tried to regain our equilibrium after that dizzying experience. There was a weird, distant popping in my ears; a far away flash like the flicker of a movie screen.

''We're missing the fireworks.'' She whispered breathlessly, shifting her hand down to cup my cheek, thumb ghosting across my bottom lip. Her words didn't make any sense, not being related to the pleasure I'd discovered from simply holding her in my arms and kissing her.

Why had we stopped? Oxygen? Who needed that?

''Yeah, fireworks.'' I didn't care about that, barely noticed the joyful smile she answered me with. I didn't care about anything but lowering my lips to hers again, to becoming lost, once again, in the bliss of kissing Taylor.


	5. Campfire Stories

**A/N: ** Thanks to all my readers for their patience. Esp to Waltzy, from whom I stole some ideas.

**Warning**: some not-nice subjects in this one. Blame the muse, people. She's a sicko.

--xxx--

She wasn't looking at me.

Okay, so the sun was still in the process of rising, but you'd think she could spare me one of her shy glances, a sideways dart of her eyes; _something_.

I mean, it wasn't like she hadn't kissed me **back**.

_--flashback—_

''Excuse me.'' I wanted to kill whoever owned that voice. That voice made Taylor gasp and pull away, made her step back and remove her body from my embrace, her hands from my hair. ''Everyone else is leaving, and the staff would like to lock up.''

''Oh, of course.'' She straightened her blouse, although it didn't really need it. Kissing her had been so fantastic, I hadn't gone any further. I wanted to, though. Fuck, did I want to. ''Do you think there's a cab or limo service that will take a credit card? There'll probably be a charge for the abysmally short notice…..''

''I could ride you home.'' The evil hell-spawn woman who'd interrupted us lifted her eyebrows at me for the way that came out. Taylor just blushed harder, looking mortified.

So it probably hadn't been a good idea to use my 'bed' voice, but I was doing good not to still be wrapped around her, still be drowning in the pleasure of kissing her.

Voice control was pretty far down on the list, all things (the way she looked, the way she'd felt) considered.

''I'm sure one of our drivers can take you home, Taylor.'' Now it was my turn to raise eyebrows. There weren't that many people in Newport who recognized the girl (witness the moron valet) and, from the hairy eyeball the woman was giving me, she must be a close friend or something.

''Thank you, Peggy.'' Yeah, this was a friend. The affection in her tone was hard to miss, as was the grateful look for not causing a scene. I was grateful, too; but more for the way the woman pretended not to see me un-tuck my shirt so it hung out over my jeans, hiding my erection. Damn, but this girl really had an effect on me. ''Ryan….'' I reached for her, thinking she wanted a kiss good-night; frowning when she stepped back. Great, I'd done something wrong. I didn't know what it was, but I figured she'd give me the chance to make it up to her. ''I should get home before my mother does. If she finds out I lied to her, I won't be allowed out of the house for weeks.'' Relieved that she wasn't, in fact, mad at me; I smiled, glad that I'd have another chance to hold her, feel her body pressed against mine, taste her angel lips……. ''I'll see you tomorrow?''

''Wouldn't miss it.'' There I went again, I really needed to get my voice in line. Soon as I got control of the rest of me, that is. This kept up, my zipper was gonna be permanently bent. Her smile was less dazzling than usual; like she was upset or something. Before I could ask, she was walking away (what a **view**), back into the club.

''Here.'' Peggy held out a napkin, smiling when I gave her a questioning look. I knew I didn't have anything on my face: one of the Cohens would've mentioned it. So what was she….? ''Autumn Mist isn't really your color.'' She said, motioning towards my mouth.

_--end flashback—_

Even _remembering_ it was embarrassing. I shifted on the bench, shooting the girl beside me a nervous look. Now that the sun was fully up, it was time to find out just what it was that I'd **done**, last night. I didn't understand why she was so obviously upset, we hadn't done more than kiss! Of course, those kisses had been more intense than some of the **sex **I'd had; but I'd managed to resist the severe temptation to take it any further. My hands had stroked her back, cupped her head, held her against me with desperate pleasure. Not **once** did they wander beneath her clothes, or below her waist to her fantastic ass. Just holding her had been enough to send my libido into orbit and had made it **very** difficult (nearly an hour of 'private time') to get to sleep (my dreams had been achingly erotic).

'' Good morning.'' Taylor was finally looking at me, but her expression made me regret ever wishing she would. There was fear in her hazel eyes; her nervousness apparent in the way she picked at her fingernails. Hoping she wasn't actually afraid of **me**, I gave her a friendly smile.

''Hey.'' I tried to put a comforting hand on her shoulder and she stiffened. My temper snapped, pushing me up off the bench. I hadn't done anything that she hadn't welcomed (with little whimpering moans that had sent jolts of pleasure right up my spine), so what the fuck was going **on** here? ''Damnit, Taylor, what the hell did I do? Can you just tell me that?'' I turned pleading eyes to her, aware that I likely looked even more desperate than I sounded.

''It's not you.'' She flinched when I snorted at the cliché, standing up to fidget in front of me. Seeing her so anxious cooled my anger entirely, made me wish I dared to take her in my arms and hold her. The way she was acting, though; such a move might just get me slapped, or even (given that we were in public) arrested. ''Things are moving a little fast.'' Fast? We'd known each other nearly three months. That wasn't long enough? ''It's so…..intense.'' She had me there, that kiss had _definitely_ been intense. That was the appeal, though; wasn't it? That thrill, that electric sensation crawling over our skin. ''I need some time. Please….'' Fuck, she was ready to cry. I didn't want her to _cry_, it was _**wrong**_. ''Will you give me some time?'' Right then, I would've agreed to just about anything, if it meant her face would stay dry.

''Yeah, okay.'' How long? I wanted to ask. I didn't want to push her, though; and I certainly didn't want her deciding never to come back. ''Can we still…..?'' I indicated the bench beside us, throat locking as she shook her head.

''I need to work this out on my own, first.'' Taylor reached up and I let her lay her palm against my cheek. It cost me massive amounts of willpower to keep from taking the opportunity to change her mind about discontinuing our sunrise sessions with a kiss or two. ''I'm sorry.'' She turned and walked away; providing me a great (always appreciated) view; but leaving me with a head full of questions and a gut tight with depressed irritation.

What the hell was I supposed to do now?

--xxx—

I looked up from my sketch pad, hearing a voice downstairs. I'd chosen this building for a little drawing time not only because of the excellent style to it; but because it looked abandoned. My desire for solitude didn't mean I was gonna stick around and argue with the squatters (or drug dealers or whatever), though. They wanted the place, they could have it. So long as they didn't see me leaving, everything would be fine. I snuck out to the hall, listening hard to see if there was a chance I could use the stairs; or if I had to go for the frightening prospect of climbing out one of the windows.

''….I don't know, but I'm standing in the middle of what should be an etched tile foyer and there's not a contractor to be found. ………. Yes, absolutely report them. Also, put a stop order on that last check and see if there's anyone who can finish the job.'' I peered around the corner and through the plastic sheeting to see Kirsten (I'd **thought** the voice was familiar) snapping her cell phone closed with a frown. Her gaze traveled up my way and I moved hastily back, cursing inwardly when my foot knocked an empty can of paint over with a loud rattle. ''I heard that. You better come out before I call the police!'' I sighed and stepped out into view, pushing my way past the curtain-like sheet of plastic. ''Ryan?''

''Sorry. Didn't know this was a model home.'' Well, wasn't **this** just embarrassing. I resisted the urge to hold my sketchpad behind my back, knowing the move would call attention to it. If I just acted casual, kept the hand holding it still; she wouldn't notice.

Right, and if I held my breath, maybe I could turn invisible.

''How did you figure out that this was a model home?'' I shrugged, keeping my concentration on the steps. The place was kind of a wreck, so I didn't entirely trust the stairs not to dump me on my face.

''You work for the Newport Group, you were talking about contractors…..'' She was lifting her eyebrows at me, obviously sensing that there was more to it. Guess it wasn't only the **male** Cohens who could read my mind. ''……and I kinda used to want to be an architect.'' The confession didn't hurt as much as I expected it to. Maybe because, if the scholarship came through; I'd actually have a chance of **achieving** the dream I'd convinced myself was impossible.

''And now?'' Her tone was teasing as she held an arm out for me to proceed her from the half-built structure. ''What do you want to be now?''

''Now?'' Why would she think I'd changed my….. Oh, right. Seth **did** have a tendency to switch future careers every other day. His most recent declared passion was to be a chef; a dessert chef, to be specific. ''Uhm….sixteen?''

''Me too.'' We shared a smile, both realizing that we didn't mean the actual **age**. I was **already** sixteen, and no one who'd made it through the hell of high school (especially in this town, as she had) would ever want to go back. No, it was obvious we both meant the _**state**_ of being sixteen. No responsibilities, nothing but school and girls (in her case, boys) on our minds; the total relaxation that comes with just being a kid. ''So how about lunch?''

''I'm okay.'' It was bad enough I ended up at their place for dinner, most nights; I didn't need to start sponging lunches off them too.

''I really hate to eat alone…..'' Kirsten said it on a sigh, looking off into the distance. The look on her face made me wonder if there was **anyone** who was happy here; if everyone was pretending **not** to be horribly lonely. ''I suppose I could ring one of the ladies…..'' I understood the reluctance in her voice perfectly. Who'd want to spend one more second in the presence of those women than they had to? I certainly intended, now that I wasn't _working_, to avoid them as much as possible.

''We could go dutch?'' Uncomfortable as I was being alone with her (waiting for her to chew me out for that fight we'd had over Seth's first motorcycle ride); it still beat trying to muster the energy to fix myself something, back at the house. It might even distract me from wondering what Taylor was doing, right now.

When she said to follow her to 'the perfect place', I never thought we'd end up at an In-and-Out Burger. The theory that she might be deliberately choosing something I could afford took a major hit when she showed an eager familiarity with the menu, ordering with the ease that only came from experience.

''Don't tell my boys, but sometimes I get so fed up with all this haute cuisine I could scream.'' I nodded, staring at my meal and wondering what had possessed me to order it. Skipping breakfast meant I was starving, so I'd ordered a double in the mistaken impression that I'd be able to eat. Ever since yesterday morning, it was like I was out of sync with the world. Picking up a fry, I tried not to gag as I chewed at it. ''It was the Thai, wasn't it?'' Confused, I frowned across the table. ''It was too spicy, and now you're not feeling well.'' Fuck, don't let her be packing a thermometer. Seth had warned me about her uber-mom tendencies, but I never thought I'd have them aimed at me.

''It was good.'' It was, too. Of all the weird food (what the hell was kuss-kuss? Stuff tasted like packing glue) they'd encouraged me to try, Pad Thai was the best. ''I liked it.''

''Have you heard from Taylor?'' I gaped, truly startled at her insight, and she shrugged, smiling smugly. ''A teenage boy only looses his appetite for two reasons; and since you're not ill, that only leaves girl trouble.'' Resisting the urge to squirm uncomfortably, I played with my straw. If I kept my head down, I could wait her out. She'd have to go back to work sometime, right? ''Ryan.'' Kirsten's voice had a weird tone, it made me look up to see if she was all right. She looked sympathetic, not mocking or amused, like the other Cohens would be. ''I think I'm a little more qualified to give advice about girls than either Seth or Sandy.'' She had a point.

''I kissed her.'' So maybe blurting it out wasn't the best way to go. It was out there now, though; might as well follow through. ''She kissed me back. We kissed. And now…….''

''You can't stop thinking about her?'' Well, at least she was making an effort **not** to smirk. That was more than her son would be doing. Just thinking about his reaction made me glad I hadn't told him.

''I couldn't stop thinking about her **before**.'' This was only true, embarrassing or not. ''Now it's worse.'' I didn't think she wanted the details on** that**. A glance at her (somewhat uncomfortable) face confirmed. Good, because I wasn't particularly eager to share my naked-Taylor fantasies with anyone, especially not my best friend's mother. ''She said she wanted to 'take it slow'. Three months before I kissed her. How slow am I supposed to be going?'' She only smiled compassionately, leaving my question hanging as she took a sip of her shake. ''That wasn't rhetorical.''

''Oh.'' Kirsten cleared her throat and set her shake aside. ''You have to let **her** set the pace. She's probably very nervous, given that you're …….more experienced.''

''I'm not gonna push, but I want to spend time with her, like we used to.'' The thought of not having her beside me for next Sunday's sunrise was painful to contemplate. ''Talk, stuff like that.''

''You need to find a way to reassure **her** of that. Let her know you're willing to wait.'' She was looking proud, again; just as she had when I'd gotten my SAT scores. It made me feel accepted and warm, uneasy and ashamed; all at once. My own mother had never looked at me like that, why was this stranger doing it?

''What if she decides that she doesn't…..that I'm not…..?'' A girl like Taylor and a guy like me. Only in the movies did **that **turn out at all well. I mean, we were good friends and all, and there **was** that electric thrill whenever we touched; but that didn't mean she wouldn't wake up to the fact that she could do so much better than me.

''I don't know the girl, so I can't really say for sure what she'll do.'' Seth had suggest inviting her over for dinner, but I hadn't felt comfortable doing so. Now I wished I had, so that his mother could tell me that my fears were groundless. ''I think you should trust her, give her the time she needs. There's nothing wrong with waiting.''

In principle, I agreed with her.

In practice, though……..

Taylor was pretty damn insecure, more so even than Seth. If I waited** too** long, she might just decide that I wasn't interested. Not to mention, waiting was going to get uncomfortable as hell if I couldn't keep the girl (kissing her until I couldn't breathe, her body warm in my arms) out of my mind for more than five minutes.

--xxx—

I hadn't even lasted a week.

I'd fully intended to give her the space she'd requested, the time Kirsten had said she needed to feel secure. Really, I had.

She's stopped posting to her online journal, though; so I was starting to get worried. She'd told me about it, one Sunday; saying that the feedback involved made keeping a diary pale in comparison. It wasn't like she was using her (or anyone else's) real name, and she'd said that the blog really served as a release of tension as well as a good source of advice. So when there hadn't been an update since before the night we'd kissed, I had to wonder what was going on. By Thursday, when no one else in town (Peggy, spa staff, the waiters at her favorite Korean place) had heard from her either, I was nearing a full-blown panic.

Had she decided it was just hormones and was now trying to find a way to let me down easy? Maybe she **wanted** me, but didn't want a **relationship **with me. That would be depressing, and not just because I'd thought she was different. Or maybe she wanted to hold out for someone more romantic, someone expressive and, I dunno, _French_ or something. Or maybe she was freaking over whether or not she measured up to the girls I'd had in the past. She was very competitive, and completely unsure of herself (unaware she put them all in the shade, patrons included); so this was a strong contender for the top spot on my list of theories.

The best scenario (in terms of probability, if not positive thinking), however, was that her mother had found out. I didn't think that Veronica would be too happy to learn that her daughter, her only child, was hanging out (let alone kissing) a kid from Chino. Taylor could be grounded, or on a bus to boarding school, or on a plane to Paris, or sent to live with some distant relative who'd train her up into an emotionless assassin….

Okay, I needed to stop watching those weird animes with Seth.

And coffee. I should probably cut back on the coffee.

Seriously, I was fidgeting like my next door neighbor; afraid to move from my place in the Townsend foyer, reluctant to so much as **breathe** for fear I'd end up shattering some priceless object d'art or family heirloom. I kept wiping my hands on my jeans, more to have something to do than out of any need to dry them. Looking around at this fancy near-palace, I felt…….grubby.

''Ryan?'' Taylor was amazing. Not only did she look hot as hell in her jeans and t-shirt, but she made me feel less stupid and clumsy, just by walking into the room. ''I thought Emilia said Seth was here.'' I shrugged and she sighed. ''You told her you were Seth Cohen.''

''It got me in the door.'' She huffed out an exasperated breath, but didn't turn away; just crossed her arms over her chest. That I only had one chance to explain couldn't have been clearer if she'd spelled it out for me. ''Look, I've never done this …..dating thing….before. I don't know how it works, what I'm supposed to do.''

''Neither do I.'' Rather than resentful, she sounded like she was disappointed that neither of us had a clue about this. ''Everything I looked up is contradictory, or doesn't fit the situation. I can't make a plan if I don't have any solid information. Even my online sources give me conflicting advice, which is just **so** helpful. I don't know what to try next.''

''Maybe we should just ……talk?'' Taylor was good at that, was comfortable with it. I wasn't, so much, except when it came to her. I could talk to the Cohens, especially Seth; but with her it was different, not as forced. It just felt ….easier …..to talk to her. Which meant I really had to watch it, or I'd end up spilling another secret.

''You want to?'' Surprise I expected, given that I wasn't that big a talker (and a teenage boy besides), but I hadn't thought she'd be reluctant. Weren't girls supposed to **like** talking about this stuff? I nodded in answer, hoping that none of my thoughts (what we could do **instead** of talking) showed on my face. ''Come on. Let's sit down.''

She led me further into the house, to what looked like a den. It didn't have as many breakables scattered around as the other rooms I'd soon, so I relaxed a bit. Shelves of books, a huge stereo system, and a flatscreen television took up one wall. A couch and two chairs made a half-circle facing the entertainment, a coffee table within arm's reach. She sat down with her usual perfect posture, indicating that I was to sit beside her.

''This is familiar.'' Reminding her of our Sunday mornings was obviously a good idea, I saw some of the tension leave her; she even smiled at me. I turned toward her, putting my arm along the back of the sofa, giving her my full attention. ''I was worried about you.''

''I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disappear, I just…..needed to think.'' She was tensing up again. Whatever was bothering her, it couldn't be me. She wouldn't be able to sit next to me, wouldn't have kissed me back; if my presence was the problem. I just hoped, whatever it was, it didn't mean the end of 'us' before we'd even begun. ''Last summer, I decided to go to camp instead of Paris. I thought, if I could make some friends **there**, I could use those skills to make some friends **here**.'' Knowing she didn't have any friends besides me and Seth, I knew where the story was going to wind up. ''All the girls were just like the ones here, though. Miniature versions of my mother, determined to make my life a living hell. They made fun of everything, but mostly the fact that I'd never once kissed a boy.'' Bitches. Looked like rich girls weren't any nicer when they got jealous than ones from Chino. At least they weren't prone to shooting people, but that was the only positive trait I could think of. ''So I figured, if I snuck over to the boys' camp, I could get kissed. Prove that there was** someone** who liked me.'' I shook my head and she sighed. ''I know. Stupid. But I was desperate for any kind of affection, even that. Thing was, one of the girls spotted me slipping away and called her boyfriend. So none of the boys would talk to me, or even look at me. I ran off, got lost, and one of the counselors found me. His name was Jack.'' She was quiet for so long, I knew she wanted me to say something.

''Did he …..hurt you?'' I didn't think so, given her body language; and she seemed relieved that I'd asked, that I'd expressed concern for her well-being.

''Only my feelings.'' Taylor brushed her bangs away from her forehead and I had to fight the urge to take her in my arms. She just looked so …vulnerable, all of a sudden. ''I ended up telling him everything, and he gave me a kiss on the cheek so I could say I'd been kissed. I thought he liked me, he was just so nice.'' To start with, I thought but didn't say. She'd obviously found out the truth, it would be cruel to rub her face in it. ''He was in college, earning some money between semesters. It wasn't until I mentioned driving up to visit him at UCLA that he showed his true colors.'' This time, I didn't fight the urge. I reached out and put my arms around her, holding her to me as she stumbled her way through the rest of the story. ''He just……laughed. Said I was 'fun', but not ……not that good a 'lay'. He dared me to tell ……said no one would believe …..would believe that any guy ………'' She didn't burst into tears, but she did rest her head on my chest and tremble for a while. Eventually, she seemed to recover her composure. ''I'm sure** your** first time was better.''

I couldn't help it, I went completely still.

If I didn't tell her, it would always be between us; that she'd shared and I hadn't. But if I did, it meant talking about something I really wanted to just forget. She deserved to know, but she also deserved not to be burdened with my past.

Before I could make a firm decision either way, I was talking.

''I was thirteen.'' My voice was harsh, evidence of the internal struggle not to speak. ''Chloe was a waitress, worked with my Mom.'' It was my turn to tremble, to gaze blindly into the distance of memory. ''I think maybe she was seventeen? A high-school dropout anyway. She brought me dinner one night, and some cupcakes; because it was Christmas, and Mom forgot to get anything but booze.'' I swallowed, remembering the warm feeling that had gone through me at the evidence (I'd thought) that someone cared. Fuck, had I missed calling that one. ''When I went to sleep, she came into my room. I thought I was dreaming, at first. I didn't really wake up until she was on top of me.'' Caught up in the surge of my own hormones, I hadn't been able to stop, though I'd wanted to. What she'd done was fairly close to rape, but I hadn't known how to control myself, back then. ''She made sure Dawn was good and plastered when she came over, and she always brought me something to eat.'' I dared a look at the girl in my arms and saw, to my relief; hazel eyes wide with understanding, and not one trace of pity. ''I can't stand cupcakes.'' That was all I had to say. I didn't have to go into details about how weak and stupid I'd felt, how I'd started getting nauseous whenever she'd called me her 'cupcake', like we were boyfriend/girlfriend or something. ''Dawn caught us, one night when she wasn't as drunk as Chloe thought. She started hitting me, calling me a pervert, saying that I was making her have to quit her job, when she'd actually been fired earlier that week.'' And the bitch who'd started it all had just put on her clothes and left, not even glancing my way as she made her escape.

I was glad I'd never seen her again.

Going to prison for snapping her fucking neck was so **not** where I'd wanted my life to go, even when I was living on the streets.

''Boy, when I'm wrong, I'm really, really wrong.'' Taylor commented, giving me a sympathetic smile. I snorted, acknowledging her attempt to lighten the mood. She cupped my cheek and I covered her hand with mine, leaning into the contact. ''I'll always give you a choice. It may be a long wait until I'm ready, though.'' I kissed her palm, accepting her promise, her plea (between the lines) for patience.

''You're worth waiting for.''

--xxx—

I couldn't move. My signature was playing, the crowd yelling their excitement; but I still couldn't get my feet to take me out onto the stage. Someone pulled me out of the way, the music shifting to a different song as I leaned blindly against the wall and tried not to shake. One of the bouncers (Doug, I think) guided me back to Alex's office, his hand on my shoulder keeping me from falling when I stumbled (three or four times) over my own feet.

What the hell was wrong with me? I slumped onto the tattered couch and put my head in my hands. This was worse than losing my ability to work the bedroom. That, I didn't much miss, but this? I **liked** stripping. The ego boost of having that many women after me, the rush of performing, the dark thrill of controlling a room; it was good, damnit, and I was good **at** it. So what the hell?

''Ryan?'' The voice wasn't a surprise. I'd figured **someone** would be coming to talk to me eventually. The person it belonged to, however….

''Spencer?" I must've spaced out for quite a while for him to have time to get here. He was dressed for an appointment, hastily so; which meant that he must've skipped his usual post-fuck shower to rush over and check on me. ''What are you doing here?''

''Alex said you were sick.'' He looked like he used to, when we lived in Paradise Hills. Concerned, without either the irritation (at having to come down here) or the anger (at my losing yet another source of income) that I was expecting. ''She said you froze up prior to your first set.''

''What the hell is wrong with me?'' He sat down beside me on the couch, his arms along the back; his eyes worried as I leaned forward and rested my forearms on my knees, clasping my hands together. ''First I can't fuck, now this?'' I took a deep breath, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, my face. ''I'm going nuts or something, aren't I? Some kind of mental breakdown.''

''You're not crazy. That conscience of yours is just putting a stop to things you know are wrong.'' Disbelieving, I sat upright, frowning at him.

''Since when do you consider it to be wrong?'' This was weirder than my sudden inability to perform. Was he having problems, too? If he was, we definitely had to get to the bottom of this shit. Julie might be willing to let me slide, on account of the Marissa thing; but Spence didn't have the same guarantees.

''I never said it wasn't.'' I shook my head, confused. Why would he have let me do this, encouraged me to do this, if he'd known it was wrong? ''Look, when you first moved in, it didn't seem to matter. Our options were limited, and it beat any legitimate job you could get.'' And trying for a 'straight' job would've sent up a red flag the minute my social security number hit the system. ''Ever since we moved here, though; it's been different. I see the kid you should've been, the life you deserve; and I know you could be happy here, that maybe you **are** happy here.'' He quirked a sour grin at me, expression sliding from serious to teasing. ''All that work to find a way to get you out of the profession, and you pull an end run that not only gets you loose, but sets you up to start a future, a real chance.''

''Why didn't you say something?'' I was resentful. And confused. He'd been making plans for my life without my consent, for one thing; and for another, he'd given every impression of disapproving of everything, every decision, he now said he supported.

''I wanted to have a plan in place, some ideas for you to choose from, before I brought it up.'' He shrugged, obviously embarrassed at being caught out but just as obviously not ashamed of what he'd done. ''Then that rescue thing went down and you were set. I've been trying to shift gears ever since, see if I could use the shit I had set up for you to get me out too.''

''But……the money……the house…Julie……'' As grateful as she was, she was still a businesswoman. I didn't know how much that house cost, but I knew it represented a serious investment. One which we had no hope of paying off if both of us got regular jobs. And if we did end up getting regular jobs, it would only be a matter of time before someone (Max, Child Services, someone) tracked us down.

''I'll square things with the boss before exercising my options, don't worry.'' Why did people always **say** not to worry when telling you something **guaran-damn-teed** to make you worry? Fuck, I didn't know which was scarier; that Spencer had a plan or that going legit was part of it. I'd lived on the shady side for so long I doubted that could make the switch to walking the right side of the law. And the way he was avoiding giving me even a hint about his ideas was really stressing me out. He wasn't stupid, but he **did** have a tendency to take the crooked route when a straight one was available. ''As for this gig, Alex says you can switch to directing.'' Looked like the subject was closed, damnit. I'd find out what the son-of-a-bitch (literally) was up to eventually, but right now I had to settle my own shit.

''The guys'd never go for it.'' Most of them were older than me, they wouldn't take being ordered around by some kid. Even the ones who didn't resent me (for my popularity, my relationship with the boss) would have a problem with it. That, and the jealousy over my former success would be exceedingly vicious, now that I'd stepped on my dick, figuratively speaking. ''They'd screw up, just to get me fired.'' And that was at the very least. I didn't want to think about what other crap they'd come up with to fuck with me. I didn't want Spence worrying any more than he already was.

''No, see, we were thinking you could take the girl's side. Since you don't 'work' anymore, I figure you won't get distracted, like she does.'' Yeah, staring at some other woman's ass would definitely hinder Alex's ability to do her job. I wouldn't be taking a huge pay cut, either; even counting the tips. Female strippers were the bigger draw, especially in a predominantly heterosexual (and somewhat macho) environment like Newport. The male side was only open on the weekends, but the girls (who outnumbered the guys five to one) kept going six days a week. That was why they **had** to have a director (Alex, apparently), while us boys (**the** boys, now) had been making do without one. ''She'll take the male side and more of the management details, stuff Julie or I are doing now; and you'll take the girls. Everybody wins.'' It certainly **sounded** like a good deal, and the thought of being around half-naked girls five or six nights a week (while not as arousing as it once might have been) wasn't exactly something I dreaded.

What I **was** dreading was telling Taylor (since I'd basically promised not to keep secrets from her) that not only would I be working more often, but I'd be spending eight hours a night surrounded by attractive, scantily-clad women with questionable morals.

Not a conversation I was looking forward to.


	6. Vacation

**A/N: ** Sorry, people. We have a house guest in the room with our computer and it's very distracting; as well as being difficult to schedule writing time.

Hope it's worth the wait.

--xxx—

I parked in front of the Cooper mansion and hoped that Marissa wasn't home. With the way my head had been feeling lately, I didn't need her simpering idiocy to make the headaches worse. All I knew about why Julie had asked me to come over was that her daughter** hadn't** run off again. After her little visit to Chino, her mother had (per Spencer) given her a necklace that was (supposedly) a gift from the girl's father (recently 'discovered' in the attic). Hell, it might even be true. Whether it was or not, the story kept the bimbo from taking the necklace (and its GPS tracker) **off**, and that was the important thing. I pulled off my helmet and kept my eyes closed as I slid on a pair of shades. Usually, I just waited for my sight to adjust, but with how severe the recent and random headaches were, I wasn't about to spark one off just to save some time. The text message I'd received this morning had said it wasn't urgent, just to be here before lunch. It was only about ten o'clock, so I was confident that I had the seconds to spare.

I rang the bell at the back entrance and followed the maid towards the study, the house far less intimidating in the daylight. Or maybe it was just that I knew I couldn't possibly be in trouble. Things at The Bait Shop were operating smoother than ever, thanks mostly to the new setup. There'd been some complaining about my absence from the stage, but the women had stopped griping (as much) when they were told I was 'ill'. There were gonna be some disappointed regulars when I didn't come back after 'sick leave'. A couple of the guys were vying for my former spot as top draw, but Alex was keeping **that** rivalry in line. The female dancers weren't nearly as, well, _bitchy_ as the male ones were. So far, I hadn't had any problems directing them on and off stage, organizing the topless waitresses (with the bartender's help) and sending the tougher girls (women, really) out to give lap dances or private shows to the interested customers. They seemed to appreciate having someone in charge who understood the business from **their** side of the equation. So, whatever I was here for, it wasn't work-related.

''Ryan.'' Julie looked up from her pile of paperwork. ''What brings you here? Not that you're not welcome, of course, but I think Marissa might get the wrong idea.''

''You didn't text me?'' Oh, fuck. We'd been set up. Who would……no, wait. I thought I had it.

''No, I didn't.'' She was starting to pale, reaching for the phone, so I had to speak up before she freaked and called …security? I didn't know if she had any 'muscle' and I didn't want to find out this way. ''I don't know who's playing games, here, but …..'' The thought that it was Zach came and went. Whatever he was up to, he wouldn't risk involving the boss. He liked his job far too much (for blatantly egotistical reasons) to chance her turning on him.

''It's Kaitlyn.'' Her brow furrowed, hand still moving towards the phone; so I hurried to finish my theory of events. ''She probably got tired of waiting for me to talk to you about letting her have a motorcycle.'' The woman leaned back in her chair, frowning. Her gaze went past me; she appeared to be staring into the space behind me.

''Kaitlyn?'' She looked more confused than ever, green eyes flickering as she tried to work things out. ''Why would she ask you to speak with me?''

''I owe her for…..'' Julie was shaking her head and I realized that, although the question was directed towards me, it wasn't **me** she was talking to. I turned to look and saw her younger daughter standing in the doorway. ''Hey. I was just about to start.'' All the arguments Taylor and I had come up with for this debate were fresh in my mind. It'd only been a little over a week, so I was confident I had this.

''Sweetie, why do you think you need a go-between?'' My boss came out from behind the desk; her face warring between hurt, disappointed, curious, and surprised. I backed up a bit, letting her move closer to her youngest. ''Don't you know you and your sister can always talk to me?'' I thought bringing up the other girl was a mistake, one that would only piss Kaitlyn off. Anticipating the fight that was about to occur, I started trying to think of ways to escape the situation.

Maybe if I began inching my way towards the door, I'd be able to bolt before they noticed I was leaving.

''Marissa more than me, right, Mom?'' Yeah, this definitely _wasn't_ where I wanted to be, right now. This conversation was far more serious than whether or not she could have a motorcycle, and it was one I wanted no part of. ''Everything's always about **her**, everyone notices **her**; it's like I don't even exist.'' One step at a time, that was the way to go. I was two steps into my retreat when Kaitlyn shot me a desperate look. Fuck, busted. ''So when I found a guy that wasn't drooling all over her, I jumped at the chance to have someone on **my** side.'' Well, now I couldn't leave. She was counting on me, and I'd been let down enough times in the past to not want to do that to someone else, even if it meant being in the middle of a 'domestic dispute'. ''Ever since Dad died, all you've thought about is making money and taking care of her. I just get lost in the paperwork.'' She motioned towards the desk and her mother sighed.

''Your sister's weak, and she makes some seriously bad decisions.'' Damn. I'd thought she was blinded by her affection for her daughters, talking them up like they were perfect little angels; but it appeared that she saw them far more clearly than I would've guessed. ''I need to keep a closer watch on** her** because, unlike you, I can't trust her not to screw up.'' Julie glanced my way, like she was startled to find me still there; and I suddenly wished I'd called before coming over, so I wouldn't have had to be witness to this uncomfortable situation. ''It was nice of you to try and help, Ryan; but you should probably go now.'' Desperate as I was to leave, I still looked to the younger Cooper first. She'd asked me to be there (for moral support, probably), so I didn't want to bail if she needed me around to boost her confidence.

''I've got it from here.'' So much for the benefit of my presence, I thought. It appeared that, now that the real subject she wanted to discuss was broached, she had no problem talking to her mother by herself. ''I remember all the pros and cons you two coached me on, so I'm good.'' I nodded, frowning when the motion (or something) started a dull ache at the back of my neck. Terrific, another headache; most likely begun when Julie had admitted to not calling me, the pain ignored in the ensuing drama. Misinterpreting my expression, Kaitlyn came over and patted my arm. ''We're even, okay? All I wanted you to do was **try** and talk to my Mom; so we're done. No more favors.'' Shit, that meant she wasn't gonna keep Marissa away from me anymore.

I'd just have to make sure, if I went to any more Newport parties, that Taylor was always with me. Not exactly a hardship. I tried to smile, thinking of the fantastic girl and her even more fantastic body; but a sharp burst of pain chased it off my face.

Fuck, did my head hurt.

''Guess I won't see you, then.'' It was sharp, sharper than the situation called for; but my temples were really pounding. I put on my shades, glad that I'd gotten the heavily tinted ones when the ache receeded slightly. ''Take care.'' Twitching my hand in a flippant farewell, I headed out the door.

Making my way towards my bike, I knew I'd be hearing about those parting comments, later on. It just didn't seem as important as going home and burying my head under cold packs, drowning myself in aspirin. That would be good, and maybe the pain would lessen up to the point that I could jack off.

Life wasn't strange enough with me having random migraines, no; I had to have a raging boner to go with my headache.

Either there was a God (and the sick fuck obviously liked toying with me); or there was actually something medically wrong with me.

Neither option was good.

--xxx--

''Hey, man, glad you could make it.'' Seth welcomed me inside for Sunday dinner with his typical enthusiasm. Usually, I was touched by his blatant display; glad that there was more than one person who genuinely liked having me around for no other reason than that I was me. Tonight, though; tonight it felt …..weird. ''Haven't seen you around for a while. I guess that means…..''

''You work days, I work nights; figure it out.'' Snapping at him wasn't the way to get him off my back, but I didn't want to hear his theories about me and Taylor. We were 'going slow', which meant that while we were still meeting for sunrise (and breakfast after) we weren't doing much else. Add in having to see half-naked (occasionally completely nude) girls at work** every** night and my lack of any outlet besides a punching bag, and it wasn't any great surprise that I was about ready to crawl out of my own skin.

The upside was that I wasn't sick, per the free clinic down on the numbered streets.

The downside?

I couldn't really** blame** her for the frustrating pace (or lack thereof) of things. The **last **time she'd let her instincts do the driving, she'd ended up with Jack-the-college-asshole. There was no way I wanted her to regret trusting me (or eventually – I hoped - being with me), so I had to suck it up and take the consequences of being patient. Even if it meant not being able to go a full day without a migraine, or a few hours without jacking off. It things kept going the way they were, though, I was gonna end up with a seriously embarrassing case of carpal tunnel.

''Hey, fellas; you're just in time to set the table.'' Seth groaned, but I took the opportunity to escape his teasing hints and distract myself with the mundane chore. If I could keep him off the subject of my sex life long enough, he'd start talking about Summer; and I could avoid thinking about those hypnotic hazel eyes, or the silken auburn hair, or honeyed lips under my tongue…… Fuck.

Good thing I'd taken to wearing loose pants and long shirts, of late.

''It's a shame that Taylor couldn't make it. Is she okay?'' I blinked at Kirsten, wondering what she was talking about; when I remembered. Sunrise had been torturous; watching Taylor and wondering if the glow that had seemed to surround her was real or just a trick of the light. I'd completely spaced on the Cohen's suggestion that I invite her over tonight.

'"Fuck.'' My head felt tight, and the room was warmer than usual. Great, just what I needed. A migraine to go with my inconvenient erection. I just hoped I could get through the meal before the nausea hit, and without anyone noticing that I had a …….problem.

''Don't say ….that word.'' Kirsten instructed, her smile letting me know she wasn't** too** mad about the language. I bit back the urge to snarl something about it being too late for me to try and act like some nice boy-next-door type. But I owed her at least the pretense, didn't I? for giving me some fairly decent advice about ….my girlfriend? My friend-who-was-a-girl? Maybe just my girl.

''Sorry.'' I couldn't manage to **sound** sorry, which meant the whole family was now staring at me. My hands starting to shake as I fought the impulse to toss the china against the wall. The plate clattered as I let it drop onto the table, their concerned gazes suddenly suffocating. ''What?!''

''You're acting funny, that's all. Flushed and kinda spastic. Are you sick or something?'' Seth looked more worried than disappointed, which surprised me. He was usually very self-absorbed. Good as it felt that his interest in my well-being was stronger than his interest in my entertainment value; it still wasn't enough to stop the throbbing in my head, or derail the ache lower down.

''I'm fine.'' So biting it out while rubbing my head wasn't very convincing. If they'd only stop **staring** at me. I was starting to feel guilty about making them worry, which was ridiculous. Why would they be worried about me; and why should I care if they were?

''Dude, you don't **look** fine. Does Taylor have mono or something? Maybe you two should call a halt to the tonsil hockey while…….'' I pushed myself violently away from the table, nearly slamming myself into the kitchen island. Seth trailed to a halt, brown eyes sliding from teasing and concerned to anxious as our gazes locked.

''Would you just shut up?!'' And now I was yelling at my best friend. I had to get this sorted, fast; before the fire under my skin found expression through my fists and into his face.

I had to get out of there.

''Let's take a walk, kid.'' Sandy invited, reading my mind again; nodding towards the back door. I glanced to the pool and all I could see was how simple it would be to push him into it. Maybe with a fat lip to teach him to mind his own business.

''I …I'll just go…..I should go……'' What the hell was wrong with me? Seth was my friend, his father the only authority figure I'd ever trusted; so why did I want to punch their faces in? Their open, friendly attitude wasn't really** that** annoying, so what the fuck?

''Easy, son…..'' The gentle grip, often welcome, often comforting; felt like acid sandpaper right then. Jerking away, I put the kitchen island between us, trapping myself by the sink. My breath came in huge, gulping chunks; my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I hunched inwards, tucking my hands under my arms to keep from lashing out.

''I'm not your son.'' Intending to snarl it, I ended up mumbling instead; throat tight with disappointment. Oh, shit, no. I hadn't cried in over a decade, I wasn't about to start just because I hadn't been lucky enough to be born Seth's brother. I closed my eyes to the sounds of their concerned murmurs and tried to get myself under control.

''It's not drugs. You swore you weren't into that, and I believe you.'' Startled by how close he sounded (after who knew how long), as well as his faith in my character, I looked up. Sandy was leaning on the counter just across from me, Kirsten dragging her quietly protesting son into the den: obviously so that her husband could confront me in semi-private. The grey gaze was directed inward, his expression thoughtful as he tried to figure out just what my problem **was**. I wished him luck, I'd been trying to figure** that** out for weeks. ''I'm thinking ……cigarettes? Possibly alcohol.'' What the hell was he babbling about? I didn't **do** that shit. ''Whatever it is, whatever you're trying to kick, the withdrawal symptoms are **very** strong.''

''With…..'' Oh, I was an **idiot**. I don't care what my test scores said, I was a **moron**. All those times Dawn had tried to beat her addiction; you'd think I would've recognized the signs. All those times I'd thought of my stripping as a 'fix', of the gigolo gig as a 'rush'; you'd think I would've put it together. I snorted derisively at myself.

Apparently not.

''Ryan?'' He was still looking at me, confusion mixing with the concern in his gaze. I guess he was wondering what I found so amusing about the situation. ''I wasn't trying to offend you, I just…..''

''No, you're right.'' The relief that I wasn't **actually** going insane (like I'd started to fear was the case) was making me giddy, but not so giddy that I didn't check that Kirsten and Seth were out of earshot. ''It's withdrawal, just not what you're thinking.'' I checked again, not wanting either of the other Cohens to overhear this next part. Sandy I thought would understand; but I didn't want to chance losing the respect of **either** of the other two. ''I quit my job just after the fourth.'' I took a deep breath, bracing myself for his reaction. ''My job_ stripping_.'' There wasn't any reason to bring up my **other **former profession at this point. The dancing, and the fact that I'd stopped; gave him enough of a basis for my symptoms, and cause to be relieved, without sharing the rest of it.

I was too ashamed to contemplate sharing the rest of it.

''Is there any fall-out from your 'retirement'? Anything you need help with?'' The surprising part wasn't that he knew there might be repercussions to my suddenly leaving an illegal job; the surprising part was that his immediate gut reaction was to **help **me, not to judge. ''Are you or Trey in danger?''

''No, it's good.'' I explained a little about the behind-the-scenes operation of a strip club, what a 'director' did, how Alex liked the current set-up better than the high-risk deal of having a minor, however popular, on stage. ''I **had** to quit. I want my grades this fall o be real, not because I look good in a g-string.'' No need to talk about my inability to step on stage: I might end up talking about my other 'performance' issues, which would lead to a discussion of things I really just wanted to put behind me.

''You think they'll recognize you with your clothes on?'' He smiled when I shot him a dirty look. ''Sorry, bad joke.'' The man **really** seemed to be relieved that I wasn't (or, rather, hadn't been) into anything darker or more dangerous (that he knew about, any way) than shaking my ass for cash. ''So, is Taylor okay with you working around all those scantily clad beauties?''

''She doesn't have a problem with me _looking_.'' She'd actually said something about only gay or dead guys **not** looking, but I'd been too busy staring at her (lips, eyes, chest – even the memory was intoxicating) to pay very close attention. ''She trusts me.''

I spoke the words with the awe they deserved,

Taylor trusted me.

Remembering that, it suddenly became a lot easier to control my baser urges.

Still had a headache, though.

--xxx—

Celibacy _sucked_.

The longest I'd ever gone without was a couple days, a week, tops. Now here I was approaching month three of this dry spell, and it wasn't getting any easier. I couldn't even escape in my sleep; when I could manage to **get** to sleep, that is. My dreams were increasingly erotic, and occasionally 'wet' to boot; something I was desperately hiding from Spencer. I seriously doubted he'd understand why I was willing to wait for this girl, why I wasn't trying to pressure her into putting out. To his worldview, the ache below my belt was my own, pathetic fault.

It probably didn't help that I was spending a lot of time with Taylor. We'd meet up for lunch with Seth at the marina, then it'd be off to the library to check out the books on the summer reading list for Harbor. I hadn't gotten much of it done, what with fantasizing about dragging her behind the stacks, or bending her over the table, or the other assorted daydreams that kept me from concentrating.

Smart as it would be to stay away from the girl, though; I couldn't manage to **do **it. Even _imagining_ her disappointment was like taking a shot to the gut, and going one day without seeing her smile was an impossibility. I'd actually managed to pick up the phone, intending to cancel our sunrise this morning; but couldn't go through with it. Sunday breakfasts and the occasional dinner (before work) were my methadone, the only thing keeping me going as my body punished me for calling a halt to the sex.

Sighing, I laid an arm along the back of the bench, trying not to tense as Taylor scooted closer. I guess she thought that I wanted to put my arm around her, instead of just trying to get comfortable. Something that seemed an impossibility, these days. Not that I was_ complaining_ about having her leaning against me. The thrill of having her tucked into my side **almost** made the throbbing ache I was going to have for the rest of the day worth it. Turning my head, I caught her looking at **me**, instead of the sunrise. That was nothing new; we were constantly sneaking looks at each other: exchanging teasing smiles when one of us busted the other. There was something different in her gaze now, though. Something I thought I recognized.

Cupping her cheek, I leaned in slowly; giving her more than enough time to pull away. I intended the kiss to be soft, gentle; but her tongue sliding between my lips changed all that. Her hair was silk over my knuckles, her mouth boiling sweet. Then her palms were on my chest, pushing me back, and she was in my lap, my hands slipping down her body and up her thighs to pull her into me by that **fantastic **little ass. She moaned into my mouth, trailing kisses back towards my ear as she ground herself onto the bulge in my jeans. I threw my head back, lost in the heat of her, uncaring that we were in public, feeling her body burning my skin through our clothes. Groaning when Taylor sucked at my neck, I moved my hands up under her shirt to the small of her back, thrusting up slightly, pressing our groins sharply together. She gasped, trembling, and her teeth dug briefly into my skin.

''Hey, Romeo.'' Someone was tapping something on the bench, making it shake. I cracked one eye open to glare, and tensed; hands freezing on their way to the clasp of her bra. Sensing the shift, she lifted her face from my neck and blinked dazedly at the uniformed cop. ''Take it inside, okay? There are little kids out here.'' Little kids didn't get up this early, but arguing with cops never turned out well, so I nodded.

''Oh my God.'' Taylor jumped up and away from me, reddening as she pulled her shirt down with shaking fingers. ''I'm so sorry officer, I don't know what got into us…..'' I leaned forward to rest my forearms on my knees to hide my erection (throbbing ache that was almost pain), their voices fading into a background buzz as I resisted the urge to pound the shit out of the guy and go back to ravishing my girl. She deserved better than a quickie on a public bench, though; and I **really **didn't want to wind up in Juvie for assaulting a police officer. An eternity of a few minutes struggling with myself later, she sat back down on the bench; her mere presence making my skin tingle. ''Ryan?'' She reached out to touch me and I stiffened, anticipating the jolt. Her hand hovered, then dropped to her side; and I scolded myself for being disappointed. ''Are you okay?''

''Depends. Are we done with the torture?'' I'd meant it as a joke, but it came out harsh and bitter. She got up and went over to the railing, shoulders stiff. After a few moments gathering what was left of my willpower, I followed her. ''Sorry.''

''You're not the only one whose hormones are in overdrive.'' She snapped, brushing her bangs out of her gorgeous eyes. They were her best feature; so real, so deep, so honest …… I took a step back and yanked my gaze away from her hypnotic beauty and aimed it out over the ocean. Damnit, how was I supposed to keep control when she was just so _**hot**_ all the time? ''It's hard, isn't it?'' I shot her a look out of the corner of my eyes and she blushed. ''I meant, it's _difficult_. Keeping our hands off each other.'' I nodded, rubbing the back of my neck. ''Maybe we should just give in.'' In any other tone of voice, those words would be all the green light I needed. Even with the defeated, depressed way she said it; I **still** had to fight not to take her back to my place and have my way with her.

''Well, girls **are** weaker.'' I felt more than saw the sharp look, the narrowed eyes. My libido was screaming at me, telling me I was _**crazy**_; but my conscience was fully on board with my plan. ''I guess it's really no surprise you couldn't last.''

''I can hold out as long as you can. Longer, even.'' That was better. Now her words had fire; not that dejected, uneasy attitude. Nothing like a challenge to light that spark back up.

''Is that so?'' I turned to face her, touching my neck, still slightly damp from where she'd kissed and sucked at my skin. Taylor had crossed her arms over her chest, blocking my view, but that didn't keep her from looking hot as hell as she glared at me, face red and eyes flashing. ''Patience isn't exactly your strong suit, Taylor.''

''Afraid you'll lose, Ryan?'' She challenged, and I tried not to grin at the success of my plan. Get her competitive nature involved, and there wasn't much she couldn't do; including making sure that we never got **that** out of hand again. When the time was right (whenever the fuck that was going to be), I didn't mind handing her the victory.

After all, even if I lost, I still won.


	7. Cotillion

**A/N: **Okay, I know I've already done a Cotillion story (over in Lane) but this one's different, promise! Even though, like The New Debut, it's kinda long.

And sorry about the wait. I'm battling my most recent obsession: CSI - and struggling not to do a crossover.

Hey! Lucky chapter 7 (I think). How appropriate.

--xxx---

''……looking forward to being a white knight?''

''Only if it's for Summer.''

I made my way towards the table, wondering what those two were up to now. Apart, I could usually manage to escape their crazy plans. When they got together, I ended up watching some completely confusing anime or sitting there with a pounding headache as they babbled on about whatever it was they talked about. Their conversations could get a little hard to follow.

Taylor spotted me, smiling and waving me over like I wasn't already heading that way. Ever since we'd been caught getting hot and heavy on the park bench, she'd been trying to treat me like she did Seth. A plan that would work a lot better if she didn't inevitably start eyeing me up. Of course, I was one to talk. Keeping my hands off her was manageable, barely; but keeping my **eyes** off her? Yeah, not much chance of that happening. She was just so damn _**hot**_.

And smart, too. She'd figured out what I was up to with that 'I can outlast you' thing pretty quick. She'd shot it down over breakfast, calling it 'immature'; although she **had** admitted that it had been very effective in shocking her into actually _thinking_ about our 'problem'. Her solution had been that we avoid being alone together, and to stay out of arm's reach of each other when (like Sunday mornings) we couldn't manage to stay apart.

It had been a week of hell, especially counting the dinner with the Cohens (who did their best to tease the ever-loving shit out of me) we'd gone to later that same night; but it was working.

So far.

''Hey.'' I nodded at my friend and smiled appreciatively at 'my' girl. It was amazing, how she could make jeans and a polo shirt look sexier than any lingerie I'd ever seen. Of course, that could just be me. Every time I saw her, I got a headache of varying degrees; depending on how naked she was in my head, and what she was doing during the daydream. ''What's going on?'' Sometimes, if what they were thinking was crazy enough, it distracted me from imagining her …….

……….in this sailor girl outfit, wind playing with her **very** short skirt……..

Damn it.

''Just psyching ourselves up for Cotillion. I'm thinking of investing in a rabbit's foot to make sure I'm paired with Summer.'' Seth fidgeted, waving the waiter over so we could order. I was amazed he hadn't already done so; patience wasn't usually his strong suit. He was probably distracted. ''I hear she doesn't have a date yet, so my chances are good.'' Oh yeah, his mind was somewhere else. Probably with his personal version of female perfection. I yanked my thoughts away from the auburn incarnation of beauty and sat down, trying to focus on his words.

''What's Cotillion?'' The Newpsies were **naming** them now? Their stupid parties weren't lame enough, they had to start **naming **them? The food was ordered, delaying their answer to my question. Crab Shack was always crowded for lunch, though; so there should be plenty of time for them to distract me from my daydream _her hair flowing over_ _my chest as her lips moved slowly downward – stop it_ and explain.

''Cotillion is Newport's debutante ball.'' Taylor sipped her soda, hand shaking. I resisted the urge to reach over and touch her, try and comfort her; knowing that whatever was making her nervous wouldn't be helped by the sensual charge of physical contact. And I really didn't want to put up with our mutual friend's reaction (teasing, endless jokes, smug looks) to our jumping each other right in front of him. ''All the girls who turned or **will** turn sixteen this year make their début into society this weekend.''

''Another excuse for them to get drunk and throw up on themselves.'' I smirked at Seth's comment, agreeing with his assessment of our peers. Getting wasted seemed to be the **only** thing the kids around here thought about; not counting the ones at this table, anyway. ''Escorted by their bozo boyfriends, who will be doing the same thing.'' I snorted, shrugging when my girl glared at me. However important this event was to her, and her still-trembling hands said it was very important; she had to know it was a valid point. Self-control wasn't very popular with the **other** teens in Orange County.

''Girls without escorts are assigned one at random from the boys, referred to as 'White Knights', who don't already have a date. It's all supposed to be very elegant and refined, like a royal ball.'' She played with her silverware, rearranging it. I knew what she wanted and, for a change, I knew the **perfect** thing to say.

''May I have the privilege, Miss Townsend?'' I'd gotten the idea from one of the few books on the summer reading list (don't ask me the title – something about the British version of Newport) I'd managed to get through. From the way her hazel eyes lit up, and her rapid nodding; the borrowed paraphrase was a huge success.

All I needed now was the night off.

--xxx—

''Say again?'' Alex looked up from her paperwork and glanced around the tiny office like she expected someone to jump out and tell her what was going on.

Since she'd gotten more responsibility for the club, she'd had a lot less free time. We still managed to squeeze in a game of pool here, a few hours blowing off steam (riding the highways on my motorcycle, mostly) there. I just didn't know if we were good enough friends for her to cover me for the weekend so I could take a girl to some fancy party. Standing uncomfortably in front of her desk, I was relieved I'd never brought up that demented idea of being fuck-buddies. The situation was awkward enough as it was.

''Could I have this weekend off?'' I was starting to get nervous. What would I do if she said 'no'? I had leverage with Julie, true, but I didn't really want to **use** it. It would feel too much like I was stabbing my friend in the back.

''Why?'' Fuck. I'd managed to avoid having any deep or personal conversations with Alex; but that looked to be over now. No way I could explain about Taylor and Cotillion without getting deep and personal. ''Not that I'm saying 'no'; I just want to know why one of my most responsible people would bail on a weekend.'' The phone rang, and I twitched. Grateful as I was for the time a phone call would buy me, I really wanted to get this thing over with so I knew where things stood. ''Hello? ……Actually, he's right here……. Asking for……..What?........Where? …….Yeah, okay.'' She scribbled something on a piece of paper. ''Got it.'' She can't possibly be doing what I think she's doing, I told myself as she hung up. No way would she set me up for any kind of job. We may not talk, but she wasn't stupid enough to be clueless about how difficult my retirement was for me; and she wasn't ruthless enough to push me back into it, now that I was out. ''Here.'' She held out the paper with the address written on it, frowning when I backed away. ''Boss wants to talk to you.''

''She does?'' I'd left my cell at home so no one would interrupt my pleading for the time off. Whatever Julie wanted me for, it was big; otherwise, she'd leave me a message or call me over to her house.

The address on the paper was for an office complex, the headquarters of the dating service that gave her enterprises their legit cover.

Guess I was stepping out of the grey area I'd been living in.

Question was: was I stepping into the light, or back into the dark?

--xxx—

''What are **you** doing here, short-stack?'' Zach stood up from the couch as I walked into NewMatch's offices for the first time. His tone was belligerent, posture aggressive; but I knew there wouldn't be a fight. He was too much of a suck-up to throw down in the boss's office.

''Julie called me in.'' I nodded at the woman behind the receptionist's desk, who hit a button; presumably telling our employer I was here. I'd been thinking about the possible reasons on the way over and decided that I couldn't be in trouble for smarting off during my last visit to the Cooper mansion. If she was ticked about that, she would've showed up at the house, or had Trey sit me down, or called me out to her place for a lecture. She'd had multiple options for taking me to task, and hadn't. That, and the presence of this asshole, meant that I was in the clear. ''Most likely to cover for you.'' Also not a possibility, but he didn't need to know that.

''You little…..''

''You can both go in now.'' The secretary returned my surprised look with a pretty good poker face. She tilted her head at the door connecting the lobby to Julie's office, then went back to reading her magazine.

I didn't trust the guy not to try and slam the door on my fingers (or some other juvenile shit), so I grabbed the handle seconds before he did; holding it open for him with a look of blank politeness on my face. His eyes glittered at me, but he managed to keep the snarl off his expression as he went past me into the office. Following after, I had to let go the pleasant theory that Julie was calling him on whatever it was he was up to regarding me and Seth. The presence of another woman (dark-haired, sharp-faced) in the room invalidated** that** idea entirely.

She looked kind of familiar, actually; I just couldn't think from where.

''Boys.'' Our boss stood up from behind a smaller, slightly more modern, desk than the one she had at her home. ''This is Veronica Townsend.'' Fuck, no _wonder_ she was familiar, but not. I'd seen the pictures in the den when I'd gone to see Taylor; but it wasn't like I'd gotten a good look at them; being more concerned with comforting the girl at the time. ''She has an….interesting proposition for us.'' A cold chill settled in my stomach when the boss held out a picture (from the looks of it, some kind of photo id) of Taylor. ''This is her daughter, Taylor.'' Oh, fuck no. No, no, no, no, no. I was gonna throw up. I could taste it, feel it in the back of my sinuses.

Not this. Not _**her**_.

I wanted to punch everyone in the room for the situation even existing.

''I don't know what to do with her.'' Maybe I could just punch Veronica, she seemed to be the root cause of all this shit. ''Hanging out in the library all day, alone at home every night; it's pathetic.'' It was a damn sight better than the 'normal' girls around here; who apparently thought drinking, sex, and drugs was more 'grown-up' than being principled or having brains. ''Her newest trick is to lie about having a date, then pretend to be sick so she can 'cancel'.'' The woman huffed disdainfully and I had to restrain myself from hugging her or collapsing into a relieved pile on the floor. She wasn't here to make an 'appointment' for her daughter, she was here to hire an escort, a 'white knight'. ''Well, she's not going to humiliate me by sitting out Cotillion, and she's not going dateless, either.'' Damn right she wasn't.

Only problem was, telling the truth would make Veronica look foolish; which she obviously wouldn't appreciate. Not to mention that Julie would be out however much she was charging, and I doubted the boss would remain well-disposed towards me if I kept costing her money. Lying wasn't an option, either; given how bad I was at it. So all I had to do was arrange matters without letting anyone else in on what was really going on.

Hopefully, being a damn good poker player would come in handy for more than earning some extra cash.

''Hard to believe she doesn't have a date.'' I commented, stepping forward to pick up Taylor's picture; making a show of examining it, like I hadn't been eating lunch with the auburn beauty nearly every day for the past couple of weeks.

''It's not her looks, it's her personality.'' Alternating between wanting to punch the bitch and fantasizing about her daughter couldn't be a good thing. For starters, it was giving me a headache; not that **that** was anything new. I made myself put the photo down, so that the tremor in my hand wouldn't give me away. ''She's such a freak. Flat-chested,…'' Huh? The hell she was. ''…unappealing,…'' Maybe to assholes like Zach, she wasn't alluringly hypnotic. But to me? Very much so. ''….selfish little brat.'' This woman had some nerve, calling her daughter selfish. Taylor was the most **un**selfish person I knew, even counting the Cohens.

''I'd be happy to escort her, Miss Townsend.'' Nice of the suck-up to clue me in that the bitch didn't like being reminded that she'd been married. His smooth tone made me want to knock his teeth in, though. ''You know my family; it shouldn't be a problem.'' From his smug grin, he knew what he was doing with this. He may not know how deeply Taylor effected me; but he knew I cared about her, and therefore wouldn't want her going with him. My brain kicked into overdrive, working the problem. ''I'll waltz your daughter around, drop her off; nice boost to your reputation.''

''If you want everyone talking about a payoff.'' Time for my own smug grin; although I paired mine with a falsely unconcerned shrug. I had to play this cool. If anyone in this room saw how much I wanted this, it was all over. ''You've mocked her for years, calling her 'Dorksend', among other things.'' Wonder if 'Mommy Dearest' would've twitched like that if it had been her **daughter's** name, and not the family's, that had been mad fun of? Probably not. ''It's gonna look weird as hell if you show up to the social event of the year with her on your arm.''

''What do you know about it, **Chino**?'' Julie's glare at Zach's little indiscretion was nothing to the way Veronica was narrowing her eyes at me. Looked like she cared one hell of a lot about her rep. There had to be a way I could use that. ''Just because your brother got lucky at the crap tables doesn't mean you belong here.'' As if I needed any further proof about his lack of intelligence, the fact that he bought Spence's cover story was more than enough to convince me he was an imbecile.

''This isn't about belonging, dumbass.'' He'd gotten close with that shot, but I couldn't let him see that he'd hit a nerve. Notice everything, show nothing; that's how I survived this long, that's how I had to keep playing it. ''This is about Miss Townsend's reputation.'' I meant the younger Miss Townsend, but no need for anyone else to know that. ''That won't be helped by some politician's boy dragging the girl around in an obvious P.R. move.'' My most charming smile didn't get me a smile in return, as it usually did; but she **did** stop glaring at me, especially when I added: ''Political figures have such a nasty habit of becoming mixed up in some scandal or other, don't you know.'' There was a choked noise from behind the desk, but Julie covered it well, clearing her throat convincingly.

''That's why you haven't socialized with the Stephens' before, isn't it, Veronica?'' Zach looked like he was about to explode as the other woman nodded agreement to the red-head's words. I was gonna have to watch him even **more** carefully from now on. From the look on his face, he was getting so tired of me showing him up that he'd be willing to risk our boss's wrath in order to take me down. ''Ryan's background won't be a problem. We can spin it that Taylor's doing charity by allowing the new boy to escort her. She'll be congratulated for following your generous example of caring for others.'' Fuck. Did she have to make it** that** hard to keep a straight face? From the glint in those emerald eyes, she knew damn well how much of a hypocrite Veronica really was.

''You can't expect any of his clients to go for that. They're not stupid,'' Unlike him. ''they'll know that he was hired. They'll think he's trying to get his hands on your money.'' He smirked, playing his last card. ''They'd be right, too.'' Moron looked smug as Veronica glared suspiciously at me; both of them unaware of how easy they were making this.

''Who cares what they** think**?'' I certainly didn't. Hell, I didn't even care what Taylor's mother thought; but I had to keep playing along like I did. It was the only way to get this gig without blowing it for Julie or making Veronica suspicious. ''All that matters is what they** say**, and they can't call me out as a professional without everyone wondering how it was they **knew**.'' This was a basic truth of rumor-mongering, and both women knew it. Blowing the whistle on someone else's shameful secret was impossible if they had the same secret to keep. Zach frowned as the mood in the room shifted, the decision obviously leaning my way. I had to nail it down before he came up with something that really would convince them not to let me escort my dream (literally and x-rated) girl to this thing. ''Look, all this nonsense is incidental, anyway.''

''I don't consider my family's reputation to be incidental.'' Her tone was sharp, her dislike for me blatant. I wouldn't care, but she also hated her daughter; and I didn't want my auburn angel paying the price (having to go to this thing with the super-asshole) for my smart mouth. ''This isn't the kind of party you're used to; with drugs and guns and sex.'' She obviously didn't know about the shit the teenagers around here got up to. Granted, I hadn't heard about any guns from Seth's stories, but I wouldn't put it past them. ''You're far too ……uncivilized and unkempt to keep this from being a humiliating spectacle.'' It was like a shot to the gut, the realization that I might lose this one. Zach straightened up, confident in his victory. The movement sparked an idea, and I stepped forward in desperation.

''Look, all you want is for her '' I flicked a hand towards the picture on the desk ''not to look ridiculous; so that your reputation is secure, right?'' She nodded, seeming surprised that I managed to put it together. If I actually gave a shit about her opinion; the fact that she apparently thought I was an idiot would be a real blow to my ego. ''I've seen her around. She's about what, five even? Five two, tops?'' I held my palm parallel to the floor, holding it steady at the same height as the top of Taylor's head. Without saying another word, I extended my arm to the side; keeping my hand at the same level.

The edge of my fingers came to a halt against my rival's solar plexus; a full foot and a half lower than he stood.

I raised an eyebrow and waited.

''Does he have a tux?'' The other boy shoved me away from him at her words and stormed out, the door slamming sharply behind him. Knowing he'd be taken to task for that later wasn't as satisfying as having succeeded in getting Veronica to let me escort her daughter. I leaned casually on the desk to hide the wobbly state of my knees. ''Someone to give him grooming tips?'' Much as I resented being talked about like a crazed mutt that wasn't even there, I kept my trap shut. She could always change her mind, after all.

''Those details will be included in the price.'' Julie sat back down, gathering her papers together. She gave me a sharp look, like she was trying to tell me something. ''Do you think Kirsten will be willing to take you shopping when she takes Seth?''

''Sure.'' I'd planned to ask her anyway, not trusting my own fashion sense to pick out something that high-end. Spencer probably would've helped, but he wasn't around much lately. I'd be worried, if he hadn't told me he was working on going legit without burning our boss. Poor guy was running himself ragged. ''You know she loves to shop.''

''Wait a minute. You don't mean Kirsten Cohen?'' She was looking at me like she'd just found out the rag she'd thrown away was a designer original. If I'd know she was this much of a sycophant, I would've brought up my relationship with the Cohens first thing. ''Caleb Nichol's daughter?''

'That's right. Ryan is very good friends with her son, Seth. He goes over to their house nearly every night.'' The calculation in Julie's eyes was nothing to the measuring look in Veronica's. I could practically hear the wheels turning as she tried to figure out how to turn this to her advantage. ''You'll have the money transferred to the account by the end of the day, won't you?''

''Of course.''

They negotiated for the amount to be paid, exchanging meaningless pleasantries as the Cooper woman walked the other out. I traced the lines of Taylor's photographed face with a relieved finger, feeling the headache I'd walked in with finally receding. Everything was working out for a change. It looked like, so long as I was friendly with Seth's family, it didn't matter where I was from, or how much money I had. The connection to Kirsten's business (however slight) was apparently worth the dip in social standing Miss Townsend would take from having her daughter being seen with the kid from Chino.

''I never would've called Zach if you'd told me she was the one.'' My head snapped around to find Julie staring at me from the doorway. I snatched my fingers off the picture, my lack of casual making her smile.

''The one what?'' My tone was defensive as well as confused. What the hell was she talking about? All I wanted to do at this point was to call my girl and tell her I'd talked her mother around (no need to share the grisly details); but if there was a chance of keeping that son of a bitch Stephens away from Taylor, I wanted to hear about it.

''The 'one', Ryan.'' From her tone, she expected me to get it; but I just couldn't understand what she was talking about. ''The one you retired for, the reason you stopped being able to work.'' Shock replaced confusion, she passed my frozen form to retake her seat behind the desk. ''You know, the girl you're in love with?''

''I'm not…..'' My voice trailed off as I considered the possibility. Holy shit. Was **that** what was going on? Was** that** why I couldn't go more than five minutes without thinking about her? Why I got jealous of anyone who so much as talked to her? I'd thought I stopped working because of my conscience, some kind of moral conflict; but it could just as easily be because of Taylor.

''No?'' Her tone was teasing rather than disbelieving. She put the picture in a new manila folder, closing it with a snap. ''So I suppose you'll want your usual cut for this job, th……''

''It's not a job.'' I snarled, my hands fisting at my sides. Julie lifted her eyebrows expectantly at me, obviously waiting for me to admit the truth. Turning away from her far too piercing gaze, I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. ''Suppose you're right.'' Damn, I sounded like Seth, when he was pouting about something or other. ''How do I tell?''

''It's different for everyone. I knew I loved Jimmie because he made me feel ……special. Like I was better than I was.'' She cleared her throat, making a show of rearranging the papers on her desk. ''Here. Generic account to pay for the tux.'' She held out a bank card, frowning when I didn't take it.

''I'm not taking **any** money for this.'' The very thought made me nauseous, and not because it was mildly dishonest. Taylor was different, special; not like the others. Accepting money for dating her, or for help dating her; would taint our relationship.

''You'll need it.'' The red-headed woman lifted her eyebrows at me and quoted the average price of a tuxedo, making me flinch. Fuck, that was three months rent at a decent house in Chino. No way was I talking Spencer out of a wad of cash that big, and I didn't have enough saved up to even come close.

This time, when she held out the bank card, I took it.

--xxx—

''Dude, I cannot believe you got Veronica Townsend to buy you a tux.'' Seth was looking through the hanging coats as we waited for his mother to finish her 'emergency' phone call to The Newport Group. He made a face, shaking his head as he put his selection back. I guess I really needed some help because, as far as I could tell; there wasn't any difference between **that** coat and the three he'd set aside as his 'finalists'. ''That's like getting a drug dealer to give you a free sample.''

''You know drug dealers?'' I hid my smirk at his stuttering protests that he'd only seen such people on music videos. He was such an easy mark, sometimes. Mentally timing him, I couldn't help but grin as he went from talking about the music videos and movies that had drug-dealing characters in them to what kind of movies and music Summer liked with hardly a breath to mark the subject change. _Minute and a half – has to be a new record_. His new topic of conversation reminded me of my confusion regarding my own girl-focused mental wanderings. He seemed so **sure**, so confident about Summer; what could it hurt to ask for his help in clearing things up about Taylor? ''How did you know?'' He stopped mid-babble, tilting his head at me quizzically. Checking around to make sure no one was close enough to hear, I nonetheless stepped nearer to him for privacy; my body language drawing him a few steps forward himself. ''That Summer was …..it? How did you know?'' Seth blinked, as if the idea of _why_ and _how_ had never really occurred to him before.

''There was a moment.'' He drew a deep, satisfied breath, his eyes turning inwards. The solemn look on his face was a reassuring departure from his usual jocular expression. '' 'When one whom we at all times admire suddenly appears to us ten times more beautiful'.'' I frowned, trying to figure out if (and what) he was quoting, and which of his many (many, many, many) stories about the girl he was referring to.

''The squirrels?'' It was my best guess for his moment of realization; when he'd seen an elementary school Summer feeding the smaller of two squirrels during recess.

''Surprisingly, no.'' He shrugged at my frown, obviously not understanding that he wasn't being much help. If I couldn't spot Seth's epiphany, how was I supposed to recognize my own when and if it happened? ''The thing with the squirrels told me she was different, opened the door to the possibility of her being my friend one day. I didn't really **fall** for her until she read that poem for class.'' Oh, I **so** didn't want to be treated to another rendition of mermaid poetry. Glancing around while trying not to **look** like I was desperately searching for a topic change paid off when I spotted Peggy, the country club's social director.

Actually, when I spotted who she was talking with.

''What's Taylor doing with Marissa?'' I wondered, leaving the rack of tuxedo jackets and heading over; Seth trailing along after me. Peggy looked exasperated and skeptical, per usual, and Marissa looked self-satisfied; also per usual. Taylor, however, was nervously fidgeting with her hands. She kept picking at her nails and stopping; only to start back up again a few seconds later.

''There he is, he can clear this all up.'' The taller of the two girls smiled at me, and I experienced a sense of wonder that she wasn't, currently, drunk. I didn't give her any credit for it, though. Dawn had had her sober spots, too; and all they did was make things worse when she went back to the bottle.

I suddenly felt sorry for Julie. Hard as it was watching my mother self-destruct, how bad would it be to watch your **daughter** drink herself stupid? Or stupider, as the case may be?

''Mr. Atwood, there seems to be some confusion as to which young lady you're going to escort on Saturday.'' Getting lost in thought wasn't a good thing, especially with Taylor standing **right there** to lead my thoughts…… I focused on Peggy as the better of the two available distractions. She was tapping her pencil on a clipboard, glaring at me like I'd really been stupid or cruel enough to double-book the evening in question. ''None of the other girls has a birth date until April; and our two February's both claim that you're their escort. Could you please resolve this matter so we can select our lead deb to assign the knights to their ladies?'' And have one less thing to worry about, her tone said.

''Lead deb **has** to have a date, so the girl holding the title won't be tempted to assign herself the best of the white knights.'' The way her eyes flicked towards Seth explained why Taylor wanted the job. She probably had a strategy for matching Seth up with Summer; and understanding that just made this even easier.

''I'm escorting Taylor, of course.'' Startled hazel joined angry blue and confused brown in staring at me. ''I didn't realize that was in doubt.'' Ignoring the others, I questioned the auburn beauty with my gaze. Where the hell had Marissa gotten the idea I wanted to be anywhere near her, anyway? Let alone date her? Drunk, I'd say she got it from the bottom of a bottle (or several) but sober?

And why didn't Taylor tell them that I'd already asked her?

''Miss Townsend, the elder, informed me that she was making 'arrangements' for Taylor's escort.'' Now Peggy was **really** glaring; probably at the look of stunned horror on my face. What kind of woman was Veronica? Going out and **telling** people you were hiring someone to date your daughter?

Fuck, that was messed up.

''Hiring someone doesn't count as a true escort.'' Marissa informed us, reaching for the clipboard. ''And I saw you coming out of my mother's office the other day.'' Her attitude was really starting to annoy me, I had to remind myself several times to keep my temper. ''When were you going to tell me, Ry?'' Oh, she was really starting to tick me off. Spence could call me that, he'd earned it; but hearing it from anyone else made my jaw ache from clenching.

_You can't slap the shit out of her_, I scolded internally; _you can't take Taylor to_ _this thing if you're in jail or barred from the club_.

''There's nothing to tell **you**.'' Pulling the clipboard from Miss Thompson's grip, I handed it to Taylor without taking my eyes off the unstable brat before me. ''Your mom was good enough to provide a neutral territory for me to discuss taking Taylor to Cotillion with Veronica.'' I turned my gaze to the girl who haunted my every waking and sleeping moment and smiled. ''I remembered how you said she didn't believe you could get a date. I figured it'd be better to talk to her a few days early, then try and convince her Saturday night.''

''I can't believe she agreed to let you take me.'' Now that she had the clipboard to fuss with, she wasn't picking at her nails anymore. She was still biting her lip, though; and it was really unfair how adorable it made her. ''I hope she wasn't too horrible?''

''She said something about me being 'unkempt', among other things. I didn't let it get to me.'' Marissa was scowling, but the presence of the adult in our group kept the bitch quiet. ''Next thing I know, I've got a debit card to buy the tux with.'' She narrowed her eyes at me; guess she wasn't buying that her mother was the generous type. This was why I was bad at lying, I think; because I tried to make the story nice, instead of believable. ''It's a loan from Mrs. Cooper, because of how much business Trey's helped her get.'' Suspicion left her face and I breathed an internal sigh of relief. The weird thing was, I hadn't lied. Spencer had brought in a ton of new business, and that was just for the legitimate side of things. ''If it's too weird, I can get a rental, or something.''

''No, it's okay.'' Everyone in the group had made a face when I said 'rental' even, oddly enough, Seth. Guess renting a tux 'just wasn't done' in Newport.

''Good luck, Miss Townsend.'' Peggy exchanged smiles with Taylor and hustled off, leaving the three of us alone with a teenaged alcoholic drama queen.

''We're gonna need it.'' Seth muttered next to me.

--xxx—

''Tonight was amazing.''

''Yeah, it was.'

Taylor was **glowing**.

I didn't know what else to call it, that level of happy where her smile not only lit up her eyes, but her entire body.

At least she wasn't like Seth, twitching around like a five year old on a sugar rush. She just sat in the passenger seat of her car, chattering happily on about how wonderful the night had been.

It was hard to argue with her about that, not that I really wanted to. Things **had **gone great, especially after her mother had left (right before the introduction of the debutantes) to deal with some 'emergency' with one of her clients. Miami, I think it was. Without her snarky comments, the evening had taken a definite turn upwards. Watching my best friend soaring across the floor with the girl of his dreams was almost as good as doing the same thing myself. It had been a lot more fun than I'd imagined it would be.

Spencer had been right.

_--flashback—_

_''Hey, little brother.'' Spencer looked up when I walked into the kitchen, smirking at me as he fixed dinner. ''How was dance practice?'' _

_''Fuck you.'' I yanked open the fridge and scowled at the water and fruit drinks. A lone Mountain Dew reminded me that, if I wanted the good stuff, I had to buy it myself. ''Three fucking hours, man_.''

_''Why would that be a problem?'' Tempting as it was to shake the bottle and open it near his smiling expression, I wanted the drink more than I wanted to soak him. ''Waltzing is right up your alley, isn't it? Aren't you the dancer?'' _

_''Shove it.'' Having Taylor show me the steps had been the easy part. Attempting to ignore the whispers and snickering as we moved around the room still made my jaw clench and my shoulders stiffen. I took an angry swig of the bottle, trying to cool off. All I wanted was for it to be Sunday already; so the humiliation would be behind me. _

_At least Seth had gotten his wish and been assigned to escort Summer, so something good would come out of this fiasco. Watching my girl talk the raven-haired socialite around had been entertaining as all hell, too. She'd started out asking it as a 'favor', saying that, as a brunette; the Roberts girl was the only one our friend wouldn't make look 'washed out'. Then she'd pointed out the aesthetic benefit for the stubborn girl - being escorted by someone who, being dark in coloring himself; wouldn't make __**her**__ look 'swarthy' in comparison. By the time she was done, the couple was debating appropriate conversation topics and accepting their pairing (granted, with more enthusiasm on his part than hers) as a matter of course. _

_''The things you do for love, huh?'' Startled, I barely avoided choking on my soda. He didn't sound snide, like he usually did when talking about love; or condescending, like he'd been ever since we moved here. _

_He sounded like the guy who'd pulled me out of that alley behind the biker bar. _

_''Who says I'm in love with her?'' I wasn't trying to deny it, but I wanted someone to tell me how to determine whether or not it was true; to give me something definitive to hang my heart on. _

_''Are you kidding?'' Spence snorted into his sandwich. ''You get up at some ungodly hour every Sunday, your __**day off**__, to sit and talk, __**only**__ talk, with this girl.'' He took a bite and reached for his water. ''If that's not love, they need a new dictionary.'' I nodded, relieved that someone had finally put it into terms I could understand. Whatever had caused him to stop being the disdaining, cynical jackass he'd been since leaving L.A., I didn't care. I was going to take advantage of it while it lasted and hope he wouldn't revert. _

_''I'm gonna step on her feet.'' I already had, at practice. Only twice, but I wasn't making any bets about what would happen when it was the real deal. Aside from the sexual thrill of holding her (in public or not) there was the surges of rage when I heard someone whisper 'Dorksend' or mutter some other insult. It was hard to be graceful when I was flipping between horny and pissed off. ''Or trip over mine.'' I couldn't admit the fears to Seth, who pretty much saw me as a personal hero; and I certainly couldn't tell Taylor – she'd think I was trying to get out of it. _

_''Ryan.'' His attention fully on me, I remembered why I counted him my brother in every way. The steady faith and compassion in his eyes calmed me down, eased the tension in my shoulders. ''Trust me, bro. When you're there, and you see her; everything else will disappear.'' He smiled at me, supportive instead of teasing. ''Nothing will matter but the girl in your arms.'' _

_---end flashback—_

It had happened just like he'd said it would.

I'd arrived with the Cohens (Spencer had an appointment) and spent the tense minutes until the girls came out making sure Seth didn't hyperventilate. Which plan took a major hit when the guy laid eyes on Summer. The steps for CPR went through my head as he seemed to stop breathing. I even had to give him a push towards the dais at the end of the room. Truthfully, I was a little stunned myself. After seeing her tool around in little scraps of nothing, it was surprising to see her looking all classy and elegant in a glimmering white dress.

Then Taylor had come out on stage.

All by herself because her father was a deadbeat shit.

Everything after that was a blur of white, hazel, and auburn.

''You okay?'' Even now, I tended to fade out whenever I looked at her. I nodded, eyes locked to the road, throwing in a sideways smile so she wouldn't read anything negative into my silence. I didn't want to get distracted while I was trying to drive, especially since I was driving her mother's car. ''Are you tired? I couldn't believe how long we were dancing. I thought Peggy was going to have to throw us out.'' That explained why Taylor's feet hurt, why she'd asked me to drive her home. I was used to spending more than a few hours on my feet, though, so I was feeling no pain.

Or maybe that was the company.

All too soon, I pulled up in front of her place. She directed me where to park, and I offered to walk her to the door. She appeared excited at the offer, taking my arm as we traveled the short distance. My jacket around her shoulders made her seem smaller than she was, more delicate in the sudden (but still comfortable) silence between us. I hoped she wasn't thinking I was gonna try something just because we were alone for the first time (not counting Sundays) since our mutual confessions. Not that I didn't **want **to (God, did I want to); but I was determined that sex with Taylor was going to be different from any past experience either of us had had. Which meant that, no matter how much I thought tonight would be the perfect time; I had to wait for her to make the first move.

Trying to think of a cab company to call to take me home, her hands on my chest took me by surprise. There was a tender look in her eyes as she tilted her head slightly, leaning in. I took the invitation, cupping her face in my palm, glad I'd removed the gloves to drive as I stroked her cheek with my thumb and kissed her. Having nailed down exactly how I felt about this girl, and wanting this to be special; I started the kiss out gentle, loving. No surprise that it didn't stay that way, given the effect we had on each other. Fire crawled through my veins when she pulled me closer, pressing her body against me. My heartbeat went up another five notches at the opening of the first button on my shirt.

I braced my left forearm on the wall behind Taylor's head, pinning her between me and the fake brick; caressing her back and side through the fabric of her dress with my right hand. She moaned, and I took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, exploring her mouth with my tongue. She returned the favor, still working on opening my shirt, pulling it out of my pants with sharp, impatient tugs. Desperate for oxygen, I broke the lip-lock to trail kisses along her jaw, nosing aside her earring to taste the skin of her neck. I'd never felt anything this good, never wanted anything as badly as I wanted to both kiss her forever and take her upstairs for the next step.

''Ryan.'' Her warm breath on my ear cleared the fog from my head a little. I barely managed to put my right palm on the wall, trembling like a junkie as I tried (and failed) to convince myself to push away from her.

''Sorry.'' I gulped in air, dizzy from the struggle not to ravish her right here and now. Gathering willpower, I lifted my head away from her bare shoulder, wondering just when the jacket had fallen to the ground. ''Got carried away.'' Her lips were swollen: face flushed, eyes glassy; and she **really** needed to take her hands **off** me if she didn't want to get done up against her front door.

''I'm not.'' Her fingers shook as she lifted them to my face, tracing the lines of it like she was seeing me for the first time. Her gaze was calm under the lust, her voice didn't crack like mine had. I guess living with Veronica was good for your self-control, if nothing else. ''Not sorry, that is.'' She smiled at me. More than anything else about her, I was addicted to that smile. Not the crazy one she'd give Seth, or the polite one she wore for the Newpsies; not even the friendly one she used on the Cohens. ''Carried away? Definitely. But not sorry.'' This smile was **mine**. My own private glimpse into paradise, and I never wanted her to look at me any other way.

''There are better places to get carried away.'' I'd used a 'bedroom' voice before, of course; but this was a different tone. This was my 'Taylor' tone – an infinitely more honest quality to the soft growl than there'd ever been. By the shiver that went through her, I guessed the words (as well as the timbre) were well-received.

''Yes.'' Such a wealth of meaning in that one word.

Taylor turned towards the door, forcing me to drop my arms as she reached into an even faker brick than the rest; nudging the painted metal plate aside to retrieve a key. I bent down and picked up my jacket, trying to buy time to cool off. As things stood, I'd be surprised to last five minutes once we got into bed. The alarm system she reset after I locked the front door behind us reassured me that Veronica wasn't an idiot (leaving a teenaged girl alone in a house full of valuables); just a bitch.

Following my girl upstairs, I finally got a good look at the dress she was wearing. Okay, yes, I'd seen it before, at the Cotillion thing; but I hadn't really **noticed** it. It looked kind of like some of the styles I'd seen in books about Ancient Greece: gathered off one shoulder and hugging every curve down her body in a smooth line I wanted to trace with lips and fingers. The hem slanted in parallel with the top (right to left) and left only a few inches of her right calf visible above the strap of her sandal-like shoe. Classy: unlike the low-cut slut gear Jess had been wearing, or Marissa's bare-backed whore's outfit.

Of course, I was fairly well biased; so maybe the other girls hadn't looked **quite **as tramped out as I was remembering.

Taylor's room was huge, and it was a relief to see that it wasn't decorated anything like Seth's. With all their common interests, I'd been afraid she'd have the same posters, or some other point of similarity that would make me uncomfortable. The biggest difference were the French doors leading out onto (at a guess) a balcony of some kind. Thankfully, the curtains were drawn, but I made a mental note not to go near them anyway. The door in the wall to the right was open a bit, what I could see revealing it to be a walk-in closet. There was an antique-looking mirror standing next to the door, and another mirror attached to a desk that had make-up and jewelry scattered across…… No, wait; that kind of desk was called a vanity, I think. There was a **real** desk to the left, a laptop and several books neatly arranged on top of it. A total of **four** bookshelves took up most of the wall space, black and white pictures of a foreign city (Paris, I'd guess) adorning the few blank spots. I saw tile through the door on the far side of her desk, which identified the bathroom for me.

Everything was matching tones of soft yellow and dark blue, the occasional brown (like the carpet) or off-white (the walls) only emphasizing the other colors. It suited her, especially when I noticed the anime figurines arranged in front of the books and music (frighteningly, Seth had many of the same CDs) on her shelves. Nowhere did I see any of the trophies or awards that I knew she'd earned. They were probably downstairs, providing her mother with bragging rights whenever she had guests over. Thinking of Veronica made it easier not to stare at the queen-sized bed and wonder if there were any supplies in the nightstand.

Taylor was kicking her shoes towards the closet, having already removed her gloves and jewelry. I went over to where she was standing by the vanity, watching her reflection smile that special smile as I came up behind her. Draping my tuxedo jacket and shirt over the back of the chair, I put my hands on her shoulders; smoothing my palms down her arms, relishing the feel of her silky skin. She turned around, wrapping her arms around my neck as our lips crashed together again.

She felt so good, so **amazingly** good; kissing her was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. If **this** was the effect being in love had on someone's sex life, it was no wonder people went to such great lengths to find the connection. Sliding my hands down her back, I pulled her into me with eager arms. She was eager, too; running her fingers through my hair, stroking my neck, caressing her way across my chest. I broke the kiss to bury my face in auburn, trying to work the tiny hooks on the seam of her dress. A maneuver that became ten times more difficult when her exploring fingers reached the waist band of my pants.

Trailing kisses from her neck to her bare left shoulder, I moaned onto her collarbone as she opened the clasp above my zipper. Her breath was warm and panting on my ear; I nearly ripped the fabric bunched in my grasp when she put a kiss just below and behind it. She unzipped my pants, dragging the backs of her nails up my shaft through the cotton of my boxers, continuing across my stomach, pushing my under shirt upwards. Groaning, I unconsciously thrust forward, lost in what she was doing to me, how she was making me feel. Mindlessly, my hands roamed over her back, my lips wandering across every bare piece of skin they could reach.

''Taylor…..'' She was sliding her fingers past the elastic, sending a jolt through me that made my knees shake. ''Tay……'' I couldn't speak, it was getting hard to even breathe. The sensation of her touch erased any coherent thought from my head; all I could think or feel was her grip soft and warm around my joint, my imagination skipping forward to how good the sex was going to be. ''Fuck!'' My body was apparently even more eager than I was, thrusting forward sharply into her hand; my gut clenching as the action (combined with the anticipation) triggered my climax. I heard her gasp, felt her stiffen; wondered if she'd ever forgive me. ''I'm sorry.'' Jackass would be a step up from how I felt, I couldn't even look her in the eye as I released her from my embrace. ''Taylor, I'm sorry.''

''I have that much of an effect on you?'' She sounded amused, she sounded flattered; what she didn't sound was mad. I dared a look at her face, nearly gasping at the fond smile tugging at her lips. That perfect, angel's smile that I loved so much. I nodded dumbly. More than ever, I couldn't help but think how amazing she was, how fantastic.

How utterly** insane**.

''It comes back.'' I informed her hopefully, not wanting my complete loss of self-control to destroy my chances of sending her over the edge I'd just fallen off of.

''Good to know.'' She finally (!) took her hands out of my shorts with only a small flicker of distaste. ''I'm going to wash my hands and get undressed.'' Taylor moved towards the bathroom, holding her arms out stiffly in front of her. ''There are hand wipes in the nightstand.'' She didn't close the door, so the sound of her cleaning (likely scalding) her hands carried across my guilty silence.

Deciding the best thing would be to follow her lead, I took my shoes and socks off and padded over to the nightstand. There was the expected box of hand wipes, and I wasn't too surprised to see the vibrator. The copy of the Kama Sutra was a little daunting, and the twenty or so neatly arranged boxes of various kinds of condoms was downright confusing. Pulling the remainder of my clothes off, I picked up a box of my preferred brand. It looked brand-new, and I realized that it very likely **was**; purchased specifically for tonight's occasion. Smiling, I left the box out, closing the drawer and removing my boxers, cleaning myself up and discarding the wipes in her trashcan.

What next? Between taking off that dress and taking off her makeup, she was going to be in there awhile. I draped my pants over the chair, on top of my jacket and shirt, and put the contents of my pockets on the vanity. Socks in the shoes under the chair, undershirt on the seat; that took care of **my** clothes. Returning to the bed, I folded the covers down to the foot and took a seat on the edge. Hearing her run the water again, I knew she was almost done. Opening the box of condoms, I took the strip out and separated off three; laying them on the nightstand and returning the rest of the box to the drawer. Maybe I was over-estimating, but better safe than stupid. The sound of water cut off and, a few seconds later, there was a rustle from the bathroom doorway.

Turning to look over my shoulder, I saw Taylor standing there with her hair down around her shoulders and her dress in her arms. Watching her walk smoothly towards the closet, I reminded myself to breathe; an especially hard thing to recall when she went past me and the new point of view revealed that she was, like me, completely naked. After hanging up the dress, she turned to face me with only a slight tremor of anxiety about our mutual lack of clothes and what would naturally happen as a result thereof. At least, I **think** that was what she was nervous about. She certainly didn't have anything to be ashamed of, that was for sure. Filling my eyes with what I'd been fantasizing about for months was having a definite effect. For her, too, judging by the way she stumbled as she came towards me. I was on my feet to steady her before the uncharacteristic lack of grace completely registered with my brain.

''You okay?'' I think I could be excused the husky nature of my voice. I was, after all, standing **naked** in her **bedroom** holding her gently by the shoulders. Touching her only made the hormone fog rapidly overtaking my brain thicker; I think I was doing well to talk at all.

''You're so beautiful.'' She put her palms on my chest, looking me over with affection as well as desire. When she bit her lip and glanced away, I found myself wishing her mother's flight to Miami would crash, with a casualty of only one. Much as it would suck for her to be alone in the world, at least she'd be free of that bitch's influence.

''You're stealing my line.'' I tucked some of her hair behind one ear, shivering at the feel of auburn silk between my fingers. Cupping her face, I smoothed my thumb over her cheek and resisted the urge to kiss her. It wasn't physical confidence she needed, right now. ''Besides, I'm a guy. Guys aren't beautiful.''

''In the classic Greek sense.'' She whispered, closing her eyes, tilting her face my way. Obviously, she wanted me to kiss her so she wouldn't have to think about her supposed 'lack of beauty'. Eager as I was for things to go there, I didn't want to move forward without at least attempting to address her unfounded insecurity. ''Like Michelangelo's David, only better.'' Wasn't **she** the one who was supposed to blushing?

''You just did it again.'' Her frown when she opened her eyes was adorable. I dropped my gaze to her body and thought of my sketchbook. The pages full of her in various states of dress and casual poses would've gone a long way towards proving the point I was trying for; if I'd only brought it with me. ''I was just thinking you reminded me of a younger Venus de Milo with arms.''

There it was, my smile.

Reward enough, but then she kissed me, her hands sliding into my hair. We caught fire, passion overtaking us with the speed of a lightning-strike. I moved my fingers behind her head, letting my other hand wander over skin that was even silkier than I'd imagined; into territory I'd only dreamed about. Taylor moaned around my tongue as I felt her breast under my palm, pressing herself against me as her fingers started traveling across my shoulders and around to my back, digging in. There was a slight tremor to her movements that had, I was sure, nothing to do with what we were doing. I could tell that she wasn't nervous about the sex, and she definitely wasn't shy; so what could be giving her the shakes? She had experience, so…..

Oh.

That must be it, then.

The only experience she had was with that asshole, Jack. She probably didn't understand how different it could be with someone else. I needed to do something to reassure her without bringing the guy up; and I need to do it soon; because having her hot little body pressed up against me as we kissed was overloading my willpower. Feeling the bed on the back of my legs, I laid down, bringing her with me until we were both prone on the mattress. Taylor whimpered, her writhing while on top of me whiting out my brain for a bit. Finally, she settled into it and started trailing her lips down my neck. Fuck, she was really making this hard, in more than one sense of the word. Not wanting her to regret this, though; gave me the strength to take my hands** off** her and tuck them behind my head. She must've been doing better than I was (every muscle _**screaming**_ at me to flip her over and assert myself); because she immediately stopped what she was doing.

''Ryan?'' When she lifted herself up by bracing her forearms on my chest, the damp heat between her legs rubbed against my joint and I nearly bit through my lip. ''What's wrong?'' The urge to shift my hips and **show** her was strong, but I controlled myself. This was as much about her as it was about me, and I wanted to do it right. ''Did you change your mind?''

''Hell, no.'' I gave her a wicked smile, taking a deep breath and letting the resulting shift of our bodies tell her how much I was enjoying myself. ''I'm letting you have your way with me.'' Locking gazes with her, I tried to convey my intent by looking; willing her to remember that I'd confessed a preference for being on top. Ever since Chloe, it was the only way I could get off. Even Theresa had only attempted the superior position once, and it had been so hideously uncomfortable (and erection-killing) that I'd never done it that way again.

''Thank you.'' For my trust, I could tell she meant; for letting her set the pace. She shifted her hips down, hands roaming over me as she sat up into a straddling posture.

Having her a few inches below my joint, instead grinding onto it, didn't make it as easy to breathe as I thought it would. If anything, the sight of her naked on the other side of my rapidly hardening erection made it even more challenging to stay in control; especially when she reached out a finger and trailed it along my shaft, feathering her other fingers over my balls. I sucked in sharply, and my reaction to her touch erased the last of the anxiety from her body language. She must've been just as eager as I was, because she reached to the right and retrieved a condom from the night stand. Just seeing it in her hands brought me to instant, throbbing hardness. Moving carefully, she covered my dick with the latex, spending a lot more time on stroking it than was really necessary to ensure a good fit. I think she was getting off on teasing me. When Taylor lifted up into position, I took my hands out from behind my head to help.

''Fuck.'' _**Warm**_, she was so warm. And tight. And wet, she was **really** slick and wet. She was gonna have bruises on her hips from me trying to speed up her descent; but she kept her impalement to a snail's pace. I think the only reason I didn't climax the minute I was completely inside was her nails scrapping just this side of pain over my chest and stomach. ''Don't.'' It felt so good,** too** good; I was hanging on by a thread, whimpering when she moved her hips. ''Don't move.''

''Ryan…'' If her voice hadn't been so ragged, it would've been a whine. She kept twitching in my grip, trying to move. Every time she did, I had to think of dead puppies or penguins or **something** to take my mind off what she was doing to me; I was that close.

It wasn't working very well.

Mostly because Taylor kept ending up in the picture; and she was so hot she could make anything look good - even images of prison.

Of course, that may have something to do with the story that went with that particular image.

Her: the fiery public defender; me: her wrongly-convicted client…….

Okay, me and my subconscious had to have a discussion.

Tomorrow, though. Tonight, I had other things on my mind.

Like not shooting off before we'd even begun. Just as I was starting to get a handle on it, Taylor wrapped her fingers around my wrists and rolled her hips, gasping and throwing her head back with every indication of enjoyment. Groaning, I gave up the fight and let my hands start roaming over her body. She put her palms flat on my chest and began moving, matching my thrusts upward perfectly. Rhythym having been established, I tried to make it better for her, rubbing the pads of my thumbs over her nipples. She jerked her body forward, crashing her lips into mine. Gasping for breath, I arched my head back, feeling her mouth leave spots of fire all over my neck and shoulders.

''Taylor….'' I let my voice convey the warning of how close I was getting, how good it felt to have her breasts rubbing over my chest as we moved. I'd lost track of how long we'd been at it; long enough for us both to have a fine sheen of sweat, long enough for me to be shaking with the need to release.

''Ryan…..'' Pleading, groaning; my name vibrated its way through my body. I was going to lose it, and soon. No one had ever said my actual name in the throes of passion, especially not with the tone of deep affection she did, and it really got to me. Moving quickly, I slid one hand between our bodies (not exactly an easy thing) and rubbed my knuckles over her clit.

She arched, mouth open in a silent gasp as her orgasm hit her; her nails digging into my shoulders. I barely felt the pain, too caught up in the feel of her walls contracting around my shaft, her skin against mine, her body tensing as she rode out her ecstasy. I wasn't far behind her, letting go the last fingernail I'd been holding onto my control with. Joined in mutual pleasure, falling over the edge together; I felt closer to her than I had to anyone in my entire life. A closeness that followed us into the aftermath, leaving us trembling in each other's arms as little jolts of pleasure traveled back and forth between us.

This was what I'd been missing with every other woman, every other girl.

The serene satisfaction of it lowered all my barriers, every wall I'd built up between myself and the rest of the world; and loosened every ounce of control I had over my tongue.

Before I even realized what I was saying, it was said.

''I love you.''


	8. And the living is easy

**A/N: **Houseguest gone, holidays over, muse awakened from coma; I'm baaa-aaack!

--xxx—

She hadn't said it back.

And that didn't bother me.

I may finally be able to feel it, finally be ready to say it; but that didn't mean I was in any shape to **hear** it. Anymore than Taylor was in any shape to say it. Between her mother (manipulative demon-bitch) and that Jack-guy (someone I'd like to introduce my fist to); she probably was just as messed up as I'd been about the whole 'love' thing, and her negative experiences were more recent than mine. Actually, with Veronica, her negative experiences were most likely current.

I was glad she hadn't said it, to tell the truth. If she had, how could I be sure that was what she felt, and not just an automatic response? No, if she was going to say it; I wanted it to be without thought, without prompting. I wanted her to say it, and then look at me with those magnificent eyes all wide and shocked, like she couldn't believe she'd just said that. Or maybe, to say it like I had; an unconscious blurting of emotion during the aftermath of an orgasm. Or, even better, she'd say it casually; so natural a thing that she just spoke the words as easily as breathing.

There was no way she didn't feel it; I wasn't even remotely entertaining **that** possibility. No girl was that good of an actress, and I wasn't just talking about the sex we'd had. Not to say the sex hadn't been good (phenomenal, really); but pure lust didn't match the rest of her behavior. The way she looked at me, the tone of her voice when she spoke to me, the things we talked about, how we seemed to read each other's minds; all of it indicative of a deeper, stronger connection than I'd ever had in my life. A connection that changed everything, even my expectations about sex.

I'd been afraid I'd have to roll her over to reach completion, but having her riding me had been a pleasure fiercer than anything I'd previously experienced. Giving up control to Taylor hadn't been the wrench I expected, not by a long shot; and it had definitely seemed to do the trick as far as putting **her** fears to rest. She'd been able to tease, after we'd gotten our breath back; to ask if that was 'all I had' with this **look** on her face.

That look was going to be trouble, I just knew it. Total innocence, warm affection, with a sultry minx lurking in the corners of her eyes.

There was hope, though. I hadn't given in right away. No, I'd managed to wait until we'd cleaned ourselves up a bit before giving in.

A whole five minutes, tops.

Okay, so I was doomed. So what?

It wasn't like I hadn't **enjoyed **the second go-round. Kissing her until spots formed behind my eyelids from the lack of oxygen, settling her beneath me as I'd explored her body more fully. Fuck, that had been amazing. I'd given Taylor everything, not just the tricks I'd picked up over the years; but every tender caress, every gentle kiss I hadn't dared open myself up enough to give anyone else. Every now and then I'd stopped, stunned by what I was feeling, by the unspoken emotion reflected in hazel, by the knowledge that I'd crossed the line from fucking or having sex to making love. Which, oddly enough, wasn't the most intimate thing we'd done, last night.

After the (second and slower) torturous build to ecstasy, after we'd gotten the strength (and willingness) to move; we'd taken a shower together. Despite the kisses we traded, it was weirdly non-sexual. It wasn't just that we were both a bit worn out that kept it from getting erotic, either; I think it was something else. Something about the way she let me take care of her; something about her willingness to take care of me. Not like either one of us wasn't perfectly capable of washing our own hair, or scrubbing our own backs; but it just felt so right and good to help her clean up, to have her help me, to wrap each other in towels when we were done. Best part - the way she'd asked me to stay. Not all shy and awkward and stuttering; but clear-eyed, level gazed: her voice hadn't even shook. Smiling at the memory, I peeked out from under a heavy lid to check on my girlfriend.

Girlfriend. Yeah, she was definitely my girlfriend now.

How did I end up with someone like her? Someone smart enough to realize I'd need something to sleep in? She'd had a package each of boxers and briefs; creepily (how did she know?) my exact size. Someone who, once we got past our mutual trust issues; seemed to have no problem walking around naked. Someone who thought it was weird that her wearing some slinky little negligee to bed would make it hard for me to get any rest. Someone who was hot even when she was drooling on my chest.

I combed my fingers through her hair, straightening the silk strands as I watched her sleep. She huffed a bit, shifting position; igniting my skin with her movements. The little smile that tugged at her lips when I moaned under my breath clued me in that she might not be entirely asleep. Her hand 'accidentally' sliding down to cup my balls when I shifted position clinched it.

Little minx was definitely faking.

''Morning, Taylor.'' I guess she thought it was time to give it up, because she didn't even bother with the pretense of a yawn; just opened her eyes and smiled at me.

''Good morning.'' Her fingers caressed me through the fabric of the boxers and I was torn between the impulse to return the favor and the desire to just enjoy myself. ''I forgot to set the alarm for our sunrise.'' The light in the room was a little brighter than pre-dawn, but not by much. Given where I was and what I was doing, however; I wasn't really that disappointed to have missed our Sunday morning tradition.

''This is a much better wake-up call than the alarm.'' Thrusting upwards so that she could feel how hard she was making me, I ghosted my hands up to cup her shoulders; gently stroking my thumbs over the ends of her collarbone. ''And a better, what did you call it? 'Moment of senseless beauty'.'' Her hand stilled, her face went red, and a frown pulled her lips downward.

''Ryan, I'm not……'' I tightened my grip on her shoulders, bringing Taylor up so that I could silence her with a kiss. No way did I want to hear any repetition of her mother's poison: about how she wasn't beautiful, or that she was stupid, or that no one liked her. Not this morning, not ever again.

We had just begun to lose ourselves in the heat, my fingers fumbling to get the silk off her (good as silk-negligee Taylor felt, naked Taylor felt even better); when the phone rang. At first she ignored it, but then she got this crazy idea about how it might be her mother. Restraining the urge to set her straight about the woman was easy, especially when I saw the hope in her hazel eyes. I didn't want to crush the only thing that kept her going, no matter how ridiculous I thought a belief in Veronica's ability to change was. Besides, I could always be wrong; it might well be that the older Miss Townsend had had an attack of the guilts about bailing on her daughter's debut and was calling to apologize.

Yeah, and Hell had great skiing.

''Here.'' The phone was in my face, my girlfriend shrugging at me with a look of mild confusion. ''It's for you.'' Her expression wasn't crushed, which was good; I guess trying to figure out who could be calling me, and calling me here, of all places, was distracting her from her disappointment (my relief) that it wasn't her mother. ''It's your brother.''

''Trey?'' I snatched the phone from her hand, all the reasons why he would've tracked me down skittered across my brain like panicked spiders. ''Trey?''

_''Hey, little brother.'' _ He sounded shaken, but not scared. So it wasn't Max, whatever it was. I relaxed a trifle.

''Your timing sucks, bro.'' He chuckled, but the nervous sound to it didn't ease any more of my tension.

_''Sorry about that.'' _ Spencer really sounded sorry, too. He sounded stressed, and more than a little on-edge. What the hell was this? Thankfully, he didn't leave me hanging for very long. _''Look, Ry; you need to come home.'' _

''For what?'' No way was he moving us; not without a plan, not after encouraging me to go after the girl, the friends, the school. No, he couldn't be that cruel. ''What's going on, Trey?''

_''I'm putting my 'legit' plan in action.'' _Oh, fuck. This couldn't be good. Smart as my partner was, he had a tendency to complicate the simplest ideas. _''So you need to come say 'goodbye'.'' _

--xxx—

''Shit.''

Standing in the driveway, I wasn't concerned by the U-Haul; even though Spencer's 'Jacuzzi chair' was inside. The open garage doors and lack of his usual rides (Bentley, Rolls, Audi) didn't worry me either. What **did** make my gut clench was the vehicle that **was** in the driveway.

A Ford P.O.S.

It didn't have government plates, but they might as well have hung a sign on it screaming 'civil servant'. In this neighborhood, any car like that that wasn't parked either in the back or near the numbered streets definitely belonged to the authorities. My only question was: what kind of authorities? What exactly had Spencer gotten himself into?

''Hey, kid.'' It's just Sandy, I told myself as my heart rate sky-rocketed and I attempted to levitate. No reason to freak. ''What's going on?'' Unlike me, it looked like he hadn't missed **his** Sunday morning routine. The raggedy t-shirt and beach shorts, the drying hair, the serene expression (concern for me rising up to cloud it over) – all of it said that he'd had a good surf. Which was good for me; meant he was in an up mood.

''How much?'' I'd startled him, but he recovered quick, frowning at the rumpled tux I was still wearing. I shook my head, nodding at the U-haul and glaring eyesore of a vehicle to put him off thinking something was wrong between me and Taylor. ''I might need a lawyer.'' Might, that was a good one. Would was far more likely.

''We'll see.'' The affable, friendly look faded and I saw his 'game face', his lawyer face, for the first time. It was impressive. I got the feeling that, whatever was wrong; this was a man who could help, who could fix it. It felt weird, trusting someone besides myself or Spencer to solve a problem; but it also, with this guy, felt **right**. ''Probably end up doing this pro bono.'' I opened my mouth to protest his charity and he shook his head, clapping me on the shoulder and nudging me towards the house. ''Let's see what we're dealing with.''

Reminded that my partner might need help, I swallowed my objections and lead the way through the open garage and into the kitchen. Voices in the living room clued me in to where the action was, and I headed that way, trying not to be unsettled by the empty spaces where our stuff used to be. The living room bookshelves where bare, the entertainment system was missing, and there was a pile of boxes next to the couch that had my radio sitting on top. My gut clenched and I reminded myself that I didn't know the full story. Until I did, there was no need to get pissed and assume I'd be leaving Newport with him. If that was actually what he was planning, that is.

''Ry.'' Spencer stood up with a smile, his khakis and polo shirt looking strange next to the two other guys' wrinkled suits. I looked them over, quick assessment; and felt the knot in my stomach twist tighter.

Fuck.

Cops.

''Who's this guy?'' One of them asked, tilting his head towards Sandy, his tone accusatory. The other cop just gave me a look, like it was my fault I wasn't on board with their game plan.

''Our lawyer.'' I snapped, and had the satisfaction of seeing their jaws clench. The only people cops hated more than lawyers were reporters. Briefly, I entertained the thought of calling Taylor and asking her to come by with a camera; just to mess with them. I didn't want to blow whatever Spence had up his sleeve, though, so I pushed the impulse aside. ''What's going on?''

''Last month, Julie fired me. She found out I'd been using my job to meet 'clients'.'' Total lie, but I didn't say anything. If this was how he was keeping the boss out of trouble, I had no intention of ruining things, if only for Kaitlyn's sake. She didn't need the grief that having a parent in prison brought. ''I started thinking about what you'd said, about how this was a shitty way to make a living, a lousy way to live.'' This time it was harder to keep my mouth shut. I'd never thought any such thing (until recently), let alone said it; but I guess he couldn't very well tell the cops that my retirement had sparked his self-examination. ''So I looked into some things, made some decisions, reached an agreement.'' Now we were getting to it, what was really going on. None of what he'd said so far explained the cops, so I set it aside to think about later. I braced myself for hearing that he'd been caught, that one of his clients hadn't accepted his resignation and turned him in. ''I'm going under to take out Max. When I'm done…..''

''Are you out of your fucking mind?!" I very much wanted to grab the idiot and shake some sense into him, but the way two pairs of hands had twitched towards their guns when I yelled convinced me to stay in place. ''Max will _break_ you before she lets you anywhere near her operation, and that's if she doesn't kill you on sight.''

''We've got it covered, kid.'' Cop number one said, managing to sound like he was patting me on the head. I scowled at him, resisting the urge to flatten him as I was sure he'd have me up on assault charges before he hit the ground.

''Your buddy's made a good deal, for the both of you; so you can just relax.'' Cop number two was obviously trying to be polite, but he still came off patronizing as hell. Hearing that Spence had made plans for my future without telling me about it didn't exactly improve my mood any, either.

''You can't trust these guys.'' I snarled at my friend. ''Soon as they've got their arrest, it'll be 'Trey who'? and you'll be **lucky **if you spend the rest of your life in prison.'' One of Max's people offing him in retaliation for her arrest was more likely, and that's if this plan even worked.

''Devon recommended them.'' I blinked, giving the two men another look. The director of The Body Shop was no kiss-ass. The kind of cops I was used to weren't even allowed in the club, there being a rule about vermin; but I knew he'd passed information on as a registered snitch. If these guys were some of his select few, then Spencer's plan was no longer as retarded as I'd thought.

''Who's Devon?'' Sandy's voice reminded me of the move I'd made to help; a move that appeared to no longer be necessary. He came up to stand beside me, staring hard at the other three men. ''And what's this about a deal? What are we talking here? Juvie? Child services?'' I didn't blame him for only asking about me, he'd only spoken to my 'brother' once or twice since we'd moved here, after all.

''Devon is a guy who gives us information every now and then. He works at a strip club.'' My lawyer didn't so much as glance my way when the cop said 'strip club' and the only person who spotted my flinch was Spence. This was good, because it would really suck to get arrested for that shit weeks after I'd stopped. ''He'll be our contact for this operation, too; so as not to leave a trail.'' A tiny spot of panic disappeared. Worried as I was about me and Spence, I was absolutely terrified of finding out we'd lead the evil bitch here; where she'd go right after Taylor, Seth, and Kaitlyn, just to start with. Relieved, I turned my attention back to the matter at hand.

''Max will still …..' This was dangerously stupid. How the hell had they convinced him this was a good idea? Where the fuck were his brains?

''I'm not going to work for Max.'' Spencer's smile was brilliant, the smug expression of someone who'd been very clever. Only my experience at a poker table kept me from gasping in shock. He was going to take out Max without working for her? That didn't make any sense at all. ''Remember what you said, when I first warned you about her? Something about friends and enemies?'' I frowned, trying to recall the conversation.

'' 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend.' '' Sandy squeezed my shoulder gently in an obvious attempt to reassure as he spoke. I appreciated the support. Things were getting confusing, not the least of which was the pride in his voice underlying the quote. ''Trey's going under with one of this Max person's rivals.'' Oh. Yeah, that would definitely be safer. Smarter, too.

Had to be Devon's idea.

''Henri-Michel.'' Cop Two put in. ''French national, runs a high class stable, all over eighteen. Thanks to diplomatic immunity, we can't touch him even if we could prove anything.'' He sounded sour about it, but not too pissed off. I guess the thought of taking down the biggest and dirtiest pimp (among her other vices) in L.A. alleviated any irritation about getting into bed with a known gigolo and some French guy.

''Henri's gay.'' That wasn't my biggest concern, but I thought I'd throw that out there, just in case Spence had forgotten. It was, after all, the main reason why we hadn't sought protection from the man when we were living in Paradise Hills.

''I'm going in as his accountant, not his boyfriend.'' My partner shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide the shake. Most people would never have spotted it, but I'd lived with him long enough to tell when he was faking casual to disguise his nervousness. Guess he wasn't looking forward to being hit on any more than I was looking forward to losing contact with him. Apparently, he was uncomfortable with what he was reading on my face; because he dropped his gaze and changed the subject. ''You've got some options to go through, little brother.'' I nodded, the nickname relaxing me a little. Not so Sandy, whose grip on my shoulder tightened slightly. I think he was worried about Seth's reaction if I just vanished.

''Fifteen minutes.'' Cop One ordered, glancing at his watch. ''Then we've got to hit the road.'' He and his partner left, actually going so far as to shake all of our hands. These were some weird-ass cops, because they seemed like decent guys.

''First option: come with me to L.A. and hide out in a safe house until this is over.'' I shook my head and he smiled. ''Yeah, didn't think so. Option two: you take off somewhere else. Hey'' talking to Sandy, who'd made a noise of protest ''it's an option. Not a good one, but it's out there.''

''I'm not leaving.'' I let him see my determination, saw him realize that any option that involved leaving Newport, leaving my new future and friends, leaving _**Taylor**_; wasn't one that I was going to accept. He nodded, accepting the ultimatum.

''Then that leaves us with you getting an apartment and filing for emancipation or staying with a friend.'' The way he said 'friend' made it clear, at least to me, that he meant Julie. That would certainly make things easier, in regards to Harbor; but it would also make things harder, considering Marissa's crush and my girlfriend's insecurity. I was about to ask him if he had an apartment lined up already, when Sandy interrupted me.

''He can stay with us.''

--xxx—

''This is cool! Isn't this cool?'' Seth enthused. He was supposedly helping me move in, but he was too excited to carry anything. He just followed me from one house to the other, chattering away. ''I mean, not cool that your brother had to leave, that's not cool. You know what I mean? What I think I mean?''

''Yeah.'' I looked around the pool house, thinking it was very cool indeed. Sandy's offer had caught me so off-guard that I was agreeing and hauling my stuff next door before the reality had had a chance to sink in. Spencer's goodbye ringing in my ears, the vehicles carrying him out of my life two dots on the horizon; I just nodded when the older man suggested that I stay in the pool house until I felt more comfortable. Until his wife felt more comfortable, he meant; or maybe he really was sincere about not wanting to pressure me. ''It's cool.'' At least no one had brought up Child Services.

''So what's with the tux this morning? Laundry day? Too busy packing to change clothes?'' I gave him a look, and his jaw dropped with a huge smile. How he could grin with his mouth wide open was beyond me, but he did it. ''No way! You and Taylor? That is awesome! What does she think about all this?'' He waved his hands, and I was glad to be out of arms reach. If I wasn't, I'm sure he would've taken out an eye or something. ''She must be stoked!''

''She doesn't know yet.'' I really needed to call her, too; if only so she could come get her car. She'd only loaned it to me so I wouldn't have to wait for a taxi to take me to 'Trey'. I'm sure she was expecting it back eventually. ''Things happened kind of fast.'' My head was still spinning, and I wanted nothing more than to have some peace and quiet to try and figure out what these changes meant for me. Given my current companion, though; I'd have a while to wait before I could calm my internal chaos.

''No kidding.'' He was still grinning at me, clearly excited that I was moving in. I let his enthusiasm wash over me, unused to someone who took such pleasure from my just being there. Between him and Sandy, I was feeling very welcome; even with the ice-water effect of Kirsten's doubtful expression. ''Hey, don't let my Mom freak you out.'' Surprised that he'd noticed my discomfort, I glanced up from where I was making the bed. He was lounging in the chair nearest the door, knees twitching as he drummed his fingers on the chair arms. ''She just needs some time to get used to the idea. The body substitute probably wigged her out a little.'' He nodded at the punching bag I'd hauled over when Sandy'd had given me permission to hang it up out here. Telling him I used it to keep my temper in check had certainly been convincing, I just wished I'd been able to think of a similar argument for the pool table. ''All too soon, she'll be out here redecorating and taking you shopping and picking out your clothes and volunteering you for setting up Newpsie events; so enjoy this adjustment period.''

''Adjustment period.'' I chewed my lip, turning around to sit on the bed. I stared at the floor, wondering just what the hell I was getting into. Now that the adrenaline spike of Spencer's departure was fading, I felt a little lost. Things had slipped out of my control, and the only reason I wasn't panicking was that the people who were now in charge of my life were truly decent and highly moral. Kirsten might be motivated by concern for her son and the friendship I had with him; but she'd no more screw me over than Sandy would; so I was safe. Safe. That was going to take some getting used to. I hadn't been completely safe since …..fuck, I couldn't think of any time I'd been completely and totally safe. 'This is a lot to adjust to.''

''But it's a good thing, right?'' His look wasn't as dangerous as Taylor's, but it was still powerful. Seeing the soulful pleading, I recalled that he had no one and nothing outside his parents and me. You couldn't really count my girlfriend, as the only reason they'd even met was because they were my friends. ''You're happy to be here?'' He wasn't even trying to play it off like he was cool and wasn't worried; he did, however, manage not to whine. I nodded and he damn near fell out of the chair in relief that I was glad about my new situation. ''Cool, dude.'' His gaze skittered around the room, and I realized, for all his father's touchy-feely stuff; he was just as uncomfortable as I was about discussing 'feelings'. ''So…..you think you're up for some Play Station? We could set up the living room system in here, so we have a back up for when Mom's using the house. The den system would still be for marathons, of course. The couch is way more comfortable than this floor.'' He jumped up without waiting for me to answer. ''I'll just go get it, grab the television from my room. I don't really need it, what with my computer to watch my DVD's on and all…….''

Grateful for the respite as his voice trailed off, I lay back on the mattress. How did this end up being my life? Considering where I started, living on the streets of Chino; I was unbelievably lucky not to be dead, in jail, or suffering a 'fate worse than death'. Seth no doubt thought that phrase was just that, a phrase; but anyone who'd lived, however briefly, on the darker side of life knew how true an axiom it really was. Lucky, so damn fucking lucky; and it was making me nervous. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for things to go south, for something that matched my expectations of reality. Instead, things just kept getting better.

I mean, yeah, I would miss Spencer; but it wasn't like he was going to jail or anything. Now that I knew he wasn't going anywhere near Max, I wasn't even worried about him. That he'd gone to Devon had calmed any fears I had about him over-thinking himself into trouble or neglecting his safety. My former director was savvy enough to keep my ex-partner alive and stubborn enough to make sure he took the advice that was given. That, and I knew Michael and his friends would keep an eye out for my 'brother', just as a professional courtesy; even if I wasn't in the profession any more.

So here I was, living with a real family, in a Newport Beach mansion (kind of), dating the world's most amazing girl, and standing a good chance of getting into a fancy private school.

Maybe, someday, even college?

Snorting at the pipe dream, I got up to finish unpacking. After I was done, I should probably shower and change, take Taylor her car back. That would give me the chance to talk to her, let her know what had happened, get some suggestions about dealing with the Cohens. Somehow, I doubted they were going to let me go my own way. Half of Seth's enthusiasm was likely over splitting his over-protective parents' attention between the two of us. However, having no experience with parents and their rules, I seriously needed her help.

That, and she was sure to be thrilled that my staying here was now more of a permanent thing. She'd probably even want to 'celebrate'. The thought of seeing her again made me smile, the anticipation tempered by my amazement that she was willing (and emphatically eager) to be with me.

Oh yeah, I was one lucky son of a bitch.


	9. Family Affairs

**A/N: **I really need to stop reading other's fanfic. Good as it is, I get distracted and my muse slips back into her coma. Hopefully, RL will give me a break and quit stressing me out so I feel more like writing instead of reading. Here's hoping.

Oh, and I put up a poll to help me decide what to work on after I finish Summer Loving. Check it out!

---xxx----

''This is amazing.'' I watched Taylor wander around the pool house and resisted the urge to toss Seth out the door. For a smart guy, he was proving massively clueless to my hints that I wanted to be alone with my girlfriend. ''You're going to need some things, though.'' Yeah, like a friend who knew when to make himself scarce.

''Yeah, Mom's already planned the shopping trip. Desk, chair, bookshelves: stuff to make this place more livable.'' He was slouched in the chair by the door, glancing towards the house nervously. I was a little worried, myself. The looks during dinner, the way the adults had practically chased us out after – it made me wonder if they'd changed their mind about my living there. Of course, if that was the case; Kirsten wouldn't be so eager to take me shopping. Right? I wasn't sure; which was another reason I wanted to get Taylor alone. She could explain, and then we could celebrate. ''You need a better bed than that, too. Something a little more solid than a futon. And she's gonna want to put a better support under the flatscreen.'' One gangly arm jerked in the direction of the tv he'd brought down from his room, the video game controllers snaking all over the top of the coffee table-like thing it was sitting on. I thought it was fine, but it apparently wasn't going to meet his mother's standards.

''I'm good. I've got all I need.'' I was uncomfortable with the thought of them spending money on me, even though I knew they wouldn't expect me to do anything for it. Still made me nervous, especially when I thought of the cash I had tucked away in my 'panic bag'. The backpack sat in the rear of the closet; ready and waiting if I ever had to bolt. The two changes of clothes and small set of toiletries not as important as the secreted rolls of bills. Just thinking of it relaxed me, let me know I wasn't as trapped as I felt.

Which was a ridiculous way to feel; but old habits die hard, I guess.

''Dude, my Mom lives to shop and redecorate; especially redecorate. You let her pick up a couple things and she won't decide the whole place needs done over. Let her think you're happy with a few things to spruce up the …….God, did I just say 'spruce'?'' He groaned, looking desperately at me. ''Can I kick your ass at Mortal Kombat, now? I need to re-assert my masculinity.''

''What masculinity?'' He gave Taylor a hurt look, his expression asking me why I let her insult him. I shrugged, knowing he read me well enough to see that I wasn't about to get between my girlfriend and my best friend. Besides, I could tell she was just teasing. I joined in, giving him a smirk and a raised eyebrow to show my 'agreement' with her comment.

''Unh. I don't deserve this abuse.'' Seth made a show of being insulted as he got to his feet. About time he clued in to my wanting to spend time with my girlfriend. ''I'm going to go see if there's any ice cream; not that I'll be sharing with you people.'' He continued to bemoan how unappreciated he was all the way across the patio and into the house.

''He's not really offended, is he?'' Hazel eyes turned to me in concern, the sparkle in their depths distracting and enthralling all at once. The impatience that started to shade the edges reminded me that she'd asked me something, so I played back the wonderful sound of her voice to figure it out.

''Offended?'' I snorted, shaking my head and taking a seat on the mattress. As I'd hoped, she sat down next to me, kicking off her shoes. ''No, probably just disappointed that he doesn't get to re-hash Cotillion for me again. Second by second For the fifth time.''

''My poor baby.'' It would've been better if she hadn't giggled when she said it. I shot her my best wounded look, and she giggled again. ''He may be a bit annoying, but you know you like him.'' I sighed and lay back, frowning when she didn't follow. She just sat there and let hazel travel over me; reading me. After a while, she asked: ''Worried about Trey?''

''Not really.'' And I wasn't. His plan was solid – minimum risk for maximum benefit – and, moreover, I knew Devon would keep an eye on him. What was tensing me up was the Cohens. I couldn't figure out what they were thinking, taking me in like this. Could they just be trying to keep me around for Seth? And, if not, what **was** going on? Because they couldn't want me here for any other reason. Maybe they felt sorry for me. That was far more likely then them wanting me around on my own merits. ''Just wondering if Kirsten is ever gonna be comfortable around me.'' Putting my hands behind my head, I saw Taylor's forehead wrinkle with confusion and elaborated a little. ''Why the pool house unless she doesn't trust me?''

''Ryan.' It was her turn to sigh, but at least she lay down next to me as she did it. Having her run her fingers through my hair nearly distracted me from what she was saying, but I managed to focus on her words and not just her temptation of a mouth. ''You've been alone for so long, living with a real family is going to take some getting used to. I'm sure that's why you're out here. They obviously want to give you some space to come to terms with your new situation.'' Well, shit. Now that she'd pointed it out, it was so fucking obvious I was a little ticked at myself. Then she smoothed over my eyebrow and the scar at the end of it with a gentle thumb and I forgot everything but Taylor.

''All this and brains too.'' I smiled, turning on my side to put an arm around her waist. She smiled back, started playing with the hair at the base of my neck and a shudder of desire went through me.

Her smile changed, went sultry, and I leaned forward to taste it. Heat exploded between us, sealing our bodies together as our hands traveled over recently discovered territory. Her teeth scraped gently across my Adam's apple and I groaned, lifting up to struggle out of my shirt. Rolling onto my back, I slid my hands up under her blouse to ghost across her bra. Taylor straddled me, softly dragging her nails over my stomach before stealing any breath I had left with a searing kiss. Covering me with her body, she gripped onto my shoulders, moaning quietly as I moved my palms up and down her back – beneath the cotton and against her skin. I was just winding the fingers of one hand into auburn silk when I heard a click.

''Ryan, Taylor; Sandy's making sundaes, do you want…..Oh my God.''

''Oh my God.'' I'd never seen anyone's face turn that red.

At least, not until I dragged my horrified gaze to the door and saw Kirsten.

''Oh shit.''

''Ryan, don't curse.'' I nodded dumbly, wondering how fast I could pack everything back up. Well, at least I'd lasted longer here than with ……..

Any thought of the Andersons fled as my girlfriend practically levitated off of me and stumbled over her shoes as she tried to put some distance between us. Her eyes were roaming wildly, unable to settle as she twisted her fingers together and trembled with humiliation. As much as I wanted to stand up and comfort her, there was a very good (very hard) reason why I didn't.

''Sorry, Kirsten.'' Trying to think of something that would cool me off, I sat up; hugging my knees to my chest to hide the tent in my jeans. Please, let her not have noticed that; that was all I was asking, at this point.

''Oh, God.'' Taylor looked like she might hyper-ventilate, sounded like she was choking. ''I'm _so_ sorry. We didn't mean any disrespect or anything, we just got a little carried away. Not that we wouldn't use protection, no matter how carried away we got. Not that we plan to let things get out of hand again or anything. Not that there were hands…….!''

''Breathe, Taylor.'' I muttered.

''Very funny. Not.'' She muttered back at me.

''Maybe you should go home for right now.'' Kirsten suggested. She couldn't seem to look either one of us in the eye; a problem she had in common with my girlfriend.

''It's not Ryan's fault!'' Taylor almost wailed. I must be some kind of pervert because, young as she looked just then (face flushed and puckered like she was going to cry or throw a fit or something equally juvenile), she still turned me on. ''I could've……we didn't mean…..he's not…….''

''I'm not angry, honey.'' Kirsten interrupted the meltdown, mouth quirking sideways as her gaze traveled over me on her way to my girlfriend. ''Uncomfortable, yes – this has never happened with Seth, for instance – but I'm not mad.''

''Oh.'' And just like that, the temptress standing in front of me settled down. She bent over and lined up her shoes, sliding them on as she straightened up. ''Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then?''

''Tomorrow?'' Okay, not the brightest thing I'd ever said; but she could be a little hard to keep up with, conversationally speaking, even when most of my blood **wasn't **below my waist.

They were lucky I wasn't speaking in grunts.

''Lunch with you and Seth at the Yacht Club, naturally.'' Then she actually leaned forward and kissed my cheek goodbye. This time, I was the reddest one in the room; though Kirsten was coming in a close second. ''Good night.''

''I'll….uh….walk you out.'' Kirsten obviously didn't want to stay in the room alone with me. Not that I blamed her, or wanted her to stick around a minute longer.

The door closing behind the two of them was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.

--xxx—

''Se…..se….seriously…..?''

''Get a grip, Seth.''

That only set him off again. I sighed, poking at my cereal as I waited for him to stop laughing. I needed to get down to the school today, set things in motion for the scholarship; but I was stalling. I guess I was waiting to find out if I'd be using this address on the application or not.

''I see you've told him''

I couldn't help it, my first reaction was to tense up. Daring a look, I saw amusement on Sandy's face; though he was better at controlling it than his son. Watching warily as he poured himself a cup of coffee, I felt my shoulders unclenching. Nothing in his body language spoke of anger or even irritation, so I figured I was in the clear. That settled, I felt the confidence come flooding back. It couldn't be **that** difficult to get into this school.

They'd let Zach in, after all.

''No wonder Mom called it an early night.'' His voice was laced with snickering, but he was at last able to speak without breaking down into laughter.

Jerk.

''Seth, could you give us a minute?'' Now my friend was the one tensing up, but the calm look in his father's eyes and the short nod I gave him was apparently enough to settle his nerves. He was grinning when he clapped me on the shoulder.

''Brace yourself, dude. I sense 'the Talk' on the horizon, and that's not a good thing; especially since it's wildly redundant in your case.'' I couldn't help the amused snort of agreement. Sex was definitely nothing new to me. I doubted there was anything the man could say on the matter I not only already knew about, but had vast experience with.

''Seth…..'' Long-suffering as the tone was, it remained affectionate. The kid was fucking lucky to have parents who thought his behavior was amusing instead of massively annoying. And as much as he complained, he_ knew_ that; which just made him that much easier to like.

Now we just needed to get Summer to acknowledge how likable he was, and life would be pretty damn perfect.

''My cue to go. Later!'' I shook my head, grinning at the soggy mess in the bottom of the bowl as the urge to strangle him, per usual, faded. The spastic twitching was apparently supposed to convey his intention to eavesdrop (thereby providing silent support); but his father shot that plan down as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

''Your mother's waiting in the driveway.'' So the man wanted to talk to me alone. Shit. He threw me a wink as Seth whined his way to the front door, but it didn't calm me any. In my experience, private conversations with adults never really ended well. ''She wanted to be here, but we figured this would be difficult enough without the two of you blushing and trying not to look at each other.'' Okay, so that was a relief. I hadn't been looking forward to facing Kirsten after …….. Anyway, now that I was out of here, I wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. I could hang with Seth while avoiding his parents, no problem.

Provided they didn't forbid him from spending time with me.

That was a depressing thought, and the idea of losing all contact with my chatter monkey of a best friend roughened my voice when I spoke.

''I'm already packed.'' Sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could find a place to stay. Alex would probably put me up for a few days, or I could crash at Taylor's. I wouldn't get a lot of sleep, either way; but at least I'd be on the familiar territory of self-reliance.

''Packed?'' Sandy seemed surprised, briefly angry, then resigned. He sighed and set his cup carefully down; waiting for me to look him in the eye before he went on. ''We're not kicking you out, kid. In fact, we'd like you to stay and, in that vein; there's something we'd like you to consider.'' He waited for me to nod and continued. It took several long moments as I struggled to switch mental gears from needing a new place to live to wondering what kind of deal I was about to be offered. ''We'd like you to think about letting us become your legal guardians.''

''What?!'' The Cohens may have been so far from the Andersons that it was like comparing Bruce Wayne to Lex Luthor (I was spending way too much time with Seth if **that** was the first comparison I thought of); but the phrase 'legal guardians' still sent a jolt of panic right up my spine. There was a clatter from the spoon hitting the floor as I lurched back from the counter, chills crawling over my skin; my eyes darting around wildly for an escape route even as my brain tried to tell me I didn't need one. ''You can't…….I don't…..''

''I told her it wasn't a good idea to push you on this; but she had a good point – it would be easier to protect you this way.'' I stared at him, trying to get my heart to stop pounding; reminding myself that I could trust him, that he and his wife were good people. He waited until I was (several deep breaths later) no longer in danger of hyper-ventilating before he continued. Sandy's voice was calm, but there was a steely passion to his tone that told me he really wanted to convince me that this was a viable option, the best plan. ''Ryan, you know that Child Services is going to get involved eventually. It's not like we can hide the fact that you're living here, even if we wanted to.''

''It won't work.'' I had absolutely no faith in the system; especially since this was something I suddenly, desperately,_** wanted**_. Best case scenario: they'd dump me somewhere on the numbered streets to share a room with three other guys because it would be 'less of a cultural shock'.

Right. More like they wouldn't want to piss off Newport society by forcing them to accept a kid from Chino. I could see the insincere, hypocritical smiles now. There'd be lot of talk about what I 'needed', what was 'best'; while ignoring what the Cohens and I wanted. They'd bring up my bad grades (accuse me of cheating on my SAT ones), the fighting (say I was a danger to Seth), the shit Dawn and Frank had put me through (explain in overly sympathetic voices how Sandy and Kirsten wouldn't be able to handle someone with my 'background'), the fact I'd been living outside the system for nearly two years (they might even bring criminal charges, if they could link me to anything). The sanctimonious bitches would do everything they could to show how much I **didn't** fit, how much I needed the 'understanding' discipline of a tough love household.

And after they'd ruined my life and destroyed any chance I had of living this dream?

They'd take a long lunch and forget all about me.

''Have a little faith in your lawyer, kid. I've spent years beating the system over stuff that wasn't half as important.'' That wasn't ego, I knew. He'd shared a few stories over Sunday dinners. Stories that made me wish I'd done something to end up in Juvie so we could've met sooner. Stole a car, maybe. ''I have enough contacts in Child Services to fast-track this, and we both know that Kirsten's money will go a long way to settling any concerns they have about you fitting in. Not that I expect there to be any problems, really. You're sixteen and, well…..''

''Not a lot of people want a brand-new teenager.'' My stomach clenched at the thought of the kind of person who did. Of course, the Cohens apparently wanted me; which shot that theory all to hell. ''This is….. I don't……. '' My head was spinning so much that it was a damn good thing I'd already sat back down. I didn't know what to think or how to react. I watched Sandy sipping his coffee and knew, **knew**; that he'd sit there all day with that look of affable patience if that's what I needed. It hit me hard, an emotional gut-shot that left my chest tightening. I quickly dropped my gaze before my eyes could get more than damp. Shit, I was turning into a real mush ball. Had to be Taylor's influence. Well, hers and the Cohen's. There was one thing, however, that I couldn't wait until I was back in control to ask; a question I managed to whisper out past the confusion clogging my throat. ''Why?''

''Why …… You mean, why do we want you?'' Nodding, keeping my eyes down, I could hear the total surprise laced all through his voice. Looked like I'd really shocked him with that one. He set his coffee on the counter carefully, but his body language said that he was worried more about me than the mug. ''Listen to me very carefully, Ryan; because I know this is going to be hard for you to hear and harder for you to believe.'' I lifted my eyes back up, ready for the other shoe to drop. Idly, I wondered what it would be. That being the live-in help was a better job than the club? That they wanted a bodyguard for Seth? That the authorities would accept my living here better if there was a reason aside from 'it's convenient'? ''We like you. You're a good person and we like spending time with you. Not as much as Taylor does, of course.'' He smiled briefly, then went serious again. ''You've had a lot to deal with, and you've handled it well, very well; but you never should have had to. We'd like to give that to you – the chance to have a childhood, to enjoy just being a kid.'' He didn't reach out, but I could tell he wanted to put a hand on my shoulder. Just like if I was Seth. ''We want to give you a home, a family; because having you around has shown us how close we came to losing sight of our own.''

I waited, and waited, and waited some more; but he didn't say anything else. Eventually, he frowned at his watch and, leaving one of his cards on the counter beside the bowl of goo that used to be my cereal; went to work. I stared at the white rectangle for who knows how long, eventually watching my hand reach out to take it as I wondered what had motivated him to tell me to call, at any time, if I needed anything, even if it was just to talk. Probably the same thing that had caused him to invite me into his family, but that didn't make any sense.

They _liked_ me?

What the hell kind of reason was that?

---xxx---

''You have to think about it? Why? Don't you like us?'' _Don't you like __**me**_, that meant; and the wounded puppy look in Seth's brown eyes was probably why his parents doted on him so much. I would've considered him spoiled; but 'spoiled' in Newport terms translated to cars and yachts, not skateboards and catamarans. ''Is it the pool house? There's a guest room we can make into yours right across the hall from my place, if you'd rather.'' Oh, no **way** would I rather. It would be difficult, at best, to get any time to myself with him that close; not to mention how impossible it would be to arrange things with Taylor inside the Cohen's main house. Even the pool house was going to be pushing my luck after that ……incident…….with Kirsten last night. ''Or maybe it's your name? You wouldn't have to change it, you know. Keeping the 'Atwood' might actually make it easier for Dad to fix things. Are you…..?''

''Breathe, Seth.'' There were so many reasons why I was glad Taylor was here (her brains, her body, her gentle understanding, her sense of humor, her everything); but right now I was mostly grateful for her calming influence on my best friend. Or, at least, her ability to over-ride his babbling. ''This is a big deal, becoming part of a new family; even one as cool as yours.'' There was an undercurrent of envy that I completely understood. I'd had such moments myself, in regards to Kirsten and Sandy and how they treated their son. That I had the chance to experience that for myself was as miraculous as it was terrifying. I didn't put a hand on her arm, knowing she'd interpret it as pity; but I did shift my leg so our knees touched. A smile flickered across her face at the subtle implication that she could lean on me. ''There are a great many factors to consider here. You have to remember that Ryan has been on his own for quite some time. A loving family and stable home environment is completely foreign to him.''

''Sitting right here.'' I kept it light, but gave my smile an undercurrent of warning. There was no way the other boy would understand, comprehend, or even conceive of most of the things I'd experienced.

I wasn't going to shatter his innocence by explaining it to him, either.

Besides, this was a new life (third time's the charm) and a new future; and my past didn't have any place in it, as far as I was concerned.

''Well, I've handled some of it for you already.'' Oh, hell. He'd spent the morning with his mother, talking about this. I knew that, because it was the first thing out of his mouth when I showed up for lunch. Now I was wondering just what it was he thought I'd be signing up **for**. '' Mom was wanting to know how you'd react to a curfew ….'' Fuck. As a concept, I understood a curfew; but I'd never had it applied to me, not even when Dawn was alive. ''….and I said, if she wanted to avoid a scene like last night's….'' Taylor and I blushed in unison, weird. ''…that she'd probably want to give you a longer leash and if you had a longer leash, then it was only fair if my curfew was extended as well; so I owe you one, bro.'' My throat locked up, my intended sarcastic 'you're welcome' caught in my throat at the appellation 'bro'. With Spencer, it'd been a label of convenience, a friendly nickname.

I could tell Seth meant it as its primary definition: that of a family member.

''That sounds more like good news for you than for Ryan.'' Taylor was chiding. She was probably as nervous as I was about this. If I let the Cohens become my guardians, then it was a solid bet that her sycophant mother would try and take advantage of the situation. Nice as it would no doubt be to have Veronica's support rather than her disapproval (once she found out about us); I knew it wouldn't last. The first time I refused to help her with some scheme or other, I'd go from being 'that nice ward of Kirsten's' back to that 'unkempt hooligan from Chino'. That wasn't even taking into consideration the impact my taking this offer would have on the rumor mill.

Although, if I became a family member rather than just living there; it would probably be less detrimental to Kirsten's rep as a happily married woman. Everyone knew the Cohen's regretted only having one child. Something to put into the 'pro' column.

''The curfew isn't the only thing that I said we should be equal on.'' Seth gloated. He hadn't stopped grinning since I showed up and it was really starting to creep me out. Anyone who could maintain that level of happy excitement needed either therapy or serious medication. Possibly both. Wasn't the first time I'd had that thought about my friend, though, and it probably wouldn't be the last. ''I pointed out how hard it would be to start a new school while working, even part-time; so I suggested an allowance. Mom agreed, and said you'd need more money, what with an actual girlfriend and all…'' He paused to check his cell phone for messages from Summer – something he did every fifteen minutes since that Fourth of July – and sighed. ''….so we both get a raise as well as an extension on curfew.''

''I can't let your parents just ….give me money.'' It went against everything I knew. No one got **anything** without earning it, and I couldn't think of anything the Cohen's needed me to do that they'd have to pay me for. Taking me in and offering me a place in their family was, as far as I was concerned; their half of an unspoken agreement that I wouldn't do anything to cause them any embarrassment. Keep my grades up, stay out of trouble, do some chores around the house; that was my part of this. They didn't need to pay me for that, especially if I took them up on their offer of guardianship.

''They're parents – they work for us.'' He didn't get it, but the way his face was wrinkled meant he was trying to figure it out. For the first time today, he wasn't smiling. A few minutes later, he took a stab at resolving my 'confusion'. ''It's not like they can't afford it. Tuition isn't going to take even a noticeable bite out of the bank account……''

''I can get into Harbor without them paying my way in.'' I snapped it, and gritted my teeth over the rest. Seth didn't deserve that harsh tone, or the rant I wanted to let loose; but the morning's events had me reeling, mind spinning, and my control was shot. I wanted nothing so much as to crawl back into bed (preferably with Taylor) and start the day over when I was ready to handle it. Say, in a month or two? ''I don't need help.''

''It's not help, it's what parents do. There'll probably be an interview with Doctor Kim, anyway; so it's not like you won't have to jump through some hoops.'' He didn't gentle his tone either; but he sounded more detached than pissed off or offended. Something he'd picked up from his father, I'd wager. The automatic assumption that I'd get in underlying his words let me push aside my annoyance with the situation.

''Still….'' Okay, they were trying to arrange my life for me; but they were leaving the final decision up to me. And it wasn't like the options they were giving me were all that bad. My dreams on a silver platter, really.

Which was probably why I was so tense and nervous.

I wasn't used to good things happening without one hell of a catch.

''Think about it, Ryan.'' Taylor's tone was teasing, and I wondered what it was she'd found to be so amused about. Hazel eyes sparkled at me, but I could see the sympathetic concern in the way her fingers twitched towards my arm. I took her hand before she could fidget herself into thinking I was mad at her. What a pair. Me expecting the worst of other people (with few exceptions) and her expecting them to think the worst of her (with no exceptions). We both really needed to work this stuff out. Preferably while naked. _Later_, I scolded myself. _Right now, she's talking. Be best if you listen_. ''…so if you let the Cohen's pay your tuition, that frees up the scholarship spot for another deserving student. You'd also have a stronger position in the community, too, making it harder for anyone to try and relocate you.'' The minute she said **that**, ice started crawling up my spine.

Max.

Someone could show up claiming to be a family member (paperwork in hand to back them up) and there would be fuck-all I could do about it.

No wonder Sandy had been so insistent on this option. It was the only way he could protect me without sending me away. Emancipation sure wouldn't work; not if my past really started coming after me.

So my choices were joining a family of people I trusted or taking my chances with they system.

''Okay.'' Shit, I hoped this worked out. If anything went wrong, my options would be seriously limited. As in, making a run for the east coast would be my only hope of survival.

''Okay? You'll take the offer, curfew and all?'' He huffed in exasperation when I nodded. He even went so far as to cross his arms over his chest, faking a sulk; though I'd bet even the plants in the corner could tell he was ecstatic. ''So, when **she** says it; you listen?'' I just raised an eyebrow and smirked at him, relieved he wasn't going to get all emotional and, as he put it, 'minty', on me.

There would be, I knew, plenty of 'minty' later on: when I told Sandy and Kirsten I was taking the offer.

I wondered what my chances were of getting Seth to tell them and spending the night with Taylor instead.

---xxx---

I hadn't been this nervous stepping into a strip club since my very first time on stage. I wiped my palms on my jeans for what had to be the fifth time and took my shades off. The Body Shoppe came slowly into focus, dim corners becoming clear as my eyes adjusted. Maybe standing out front in the bright sun for almost half an hour hadn't been the best plan. Like I had a plan in the first place.

''Hey, ace.'' One of the female dancers waved on her way to the dressing room. ''Sorry to hear the news.''

''Uh…..'' She was gone before I could respond. News? I'd heard that rumors spread fast, but **this** fast? And how had she known about Spence in the first place? Let alone that he was gone?

Heading back towards the office, I went over and over what I was going to say to Alex. This had the potential to go south really fast, not to mention the possible damage to our friendship. Which was something that never would've occurred to me before I came to Newport. Now, thanks to Taylor and the Cohens, I was actually _concerned _about whether or not she'd still want to hang out and play pool (we'd have to find a new place, since my current place of residence didn't have a table) after I bailed on her completely. Job-wise, that is. Sighing, I pushed open the door marked 'management' and started what was going to be a very difficult conversation.

''Hey, Alex, can we……'' The rest of my opening statement died out when I raised my head to look behind the desk. And saw who was sitting there. ''Julie.''

---xxx---

''I've been ordered to set the table.'' Kirsten's grin invited me to join in on the almost traditional mocking of her cooking skills. Or, rather, the lack thereof. Any other night, I'd grin back. Any other night, I'd be watching Sandy grill and distracting a fidgeting Seth so the kid didn't accidently catch himself on fire. Tonight, though……..

Tonight I was nervous as hell and had the knot in my guts to show for it.

''It shouldn't be this hard.'' I mumbled, staring blankly at the table. The place settings (adjusted seven times already, and I was thinking of going for eight) got barely a glance before the green gaze landed on me. Confusion turned quickly to compassion and she twitched in my direction.

She sat down at one end of the table instead of coming over, though. Which was a relief, really. My nerves were pretty much shot, and I didn't think I could handle any kind of 'moment'. Unfortunately, the night was headed in that direction; whether I was ready for it or not. I just hoped that, when it came; I could keep control. Crying like a little bitch was not a good way to convince these people they'd made the right choice by taking me in.

''What's so hard?'' Her voice was so calm, so tender. Made me just want to sit next to her and let her hold me while I muttered all my doubts and fears into her shoulder and have her sooth me, have her make everything better. Which was an impulse that went against all my instincts, everything I'd learned from life. She must be doing that Mom-thing that Dawn could never get right. Guilt moved across her face as we stared at each other and she leaned forward, hands clasped on the table in front of her. I could tell she wanted to touch me, to comfort me; but something (women's instinct?) kept her at a distance. Which was good, because I really didn't think I could take that right now. Not without breaking down like a pathetic loser, anyway. _Fuck, I wish Taylor was here._ _This_ _shit is easier to deal with with her around_. ''Are we pressuring you? I know we should've waited, but with the deadline for entrance tomorrow, and registration next week…….'' Her expression got even more guilty and her tone became hesitant. ''I hope you realize, Ryan, that you are welcome to live here even if you don't want to be a part of our family.''

''Yeah.'' Only, if I refused this, it would destroy her son. Her husband would wonder where he went wrong and she'd never forgive me for the pain I'd cause in rejecting them. I had no intention of doing so, of course, for a variety of very good reasons; but I just couldn't seem to get the words out. Seth was, for once (just my luck he picks **now** to be quiet), keeping his mouth shut; which left me desperately trying to find a way to accept his family's generosity.

''We could help you with your job. If you wanted to keep working, maintain some of your independence.'' She had the wrong end of it, if she thought staying self-reliant was my main motivation for not wanting to take their money. It did give me a chance to get things rolling in the right direction, though.

''I quit.'' Was fired, actually; but Kirsten didn't need to know that.

She didn't need to know how Julie had smiled and wished me luck with my new family. How I'd found out Trey had asked our former boss to 'take care of me' and she considered the arrangement Kirsten had talked about during their Newpsie luncheon (brilliant strategy – get the news out _first_ and you can control the rumors) to be better than anything the Coopers could offer. How I'd been warned that, should I cause any pain or embarrassment to the Cohens; she'd throw my battered body off the pier. How, instead of opening the door for me to get that scholarship; she was now going to use her influence to make sure none of her friends (or my former clients) would prevent my attending Harbor, should I achieve entrance. And the blonde definitely didn't need to know that the other woman would be _faking_ hostility towards me, to make Trey's 'betrayal' cover story more believable. Great news, I thought; because her friendly gratitude tended to make me feel more guilty about all the money she'd had to spend since I got here. Maybe after I was 'punished' by a verbal shredding or two, I could let go of that.

''Quit?'' She was doing a damn good job of controlling her reaction, but I could still hear the hope in her voice, see it in her eyes. ''Does that mean …..?''

''I figure you can take my allowance out of the money the state gives you.'' I wasn't going to think about the possibility that they wouldn't be giving the Cohens any money; seeing as how they really didn't need it. The mental trick of thinking that any money spent on me came from the system, however, was all that was allowing me to accept it; and I was going to cling to that as fiercely as Seth clung to Captain Oats.

''If you insist, Ryan, but we'll be starting your college fund with the difference.'' She stood, and her body language fairly screamed with a desire to hug me. I nodded in answer to her statement (as well as tactic permission for her unspoken request) and relaxed the set of my shoulders, turning slightly in her direction and unclenching my fists. Next thing I knew, I had an armful of Seth's mother. ''Thank you.'' Just when I thought I'd figured these people out, they said stuff like that. What was she thanking **me** for? I should be the one thanking **her**, for taking me in.

For this hug, too. I hadn't felt this emotional comfortable since waking up with Taylor, yesterday morning.

''Kirsten?''

''Mom?''

Only hope in their voices, no suspicion. Just hope and, when I was released to face them; an excited satisfaction in brown and grey.

''Ryan's agreed to be part of the family.''_ Intense_ satisfaction in Kirsten's voice, emotional support in her graceful fingers on my shoulder, complete with gentle squeeze. I ducked my head to hide my eyes, knowing that everything I was feeling would be visible there.

''Awesome!'' So much for my taking a step back from the emotions of the moment. Seth threw his arms around me and damn near smacked his mother patting me on the back. ''Glad you didn't change your mind, bro.'' He practically bounced around the kitchen, deflecting his mother's irritation over his keeping my decision a secret with protests of not wanting to 'jinx it' as he grabbed the salad out of the fridge and put it out.

Sandy grinned at me, setting the plate of grilled fish on the table. I managed to grin back, breath hitching a bit as I watched them, trying to clear my throat of everything I was feeling. Something that was made even harder by what he said when he clapped me affectionately on the shoulder on his way to wash his hands.

''Welcome to the family, kid.''


	10. Conversations in Shadow

**A/N: **Ah, reviews. So that's why I got into this stuff! If I write more, will I get more reviews?

Let's see.

--xxx—

I carried the bag of wood chips towards the grill and tried not to completely lose my temper. It wasn't that the old snob had treated me like a servant. I'd expected **that** attitude since I got to Newport, and it was kind of a relief to have someone finally live down to the expectation. No, it was the way the son of a bitch treated the rest of the family.

Family. I wondered if the thrill (the insane grin) I got when I woke up (or looked around) and remembered that, per Seth, it was now 'Cohens plus one', was ever going to fade.

Okay, thinking of** that** didn't help. If anything, it made the anger worse. There was gonna be one hell of dentist's bill if I didn't stop grinding my teeth, too; but I couldn't seem to get a handle on it. Calling me 'that con artist who wormed his way into my family' just set me off. Hadn't he** met** Sandy? There was no way that man would do anything to endanger his wife and son; no matter how much he sympathized or wanted to help. And how could the ass insult his daughter like that? Working with Kirsten at that company of his, he really should know how gullible she _wasn't_, how intelligent she _was_. Then, of course, there was the shit he'd said about Seth.

'Not a football player'. Can I just say, 'no shit, Sherlock'? And, to quote my brand-new brother, 'thank Moses and Jesus'? Football players (here, disguised as water-polo players) were spoiled ego-maniacs whose only response to anything new or different was to hit it. The only good thing you could say about them was that they were popular, that they fit in. Which would, granted, make the kid's life easier; but there was no way he'd be happy. Not even if it got him Summer would he be happy pretending to be one of the 'in crowd' and drowning in the mindlessly (undeservedly) superior attitude of Newpsie spawn.

Setting the bag in its place, I headed for the pool house. A few rounds with the body bag and I'd be calm enough for dinner with Caleb. Maybe I should offer the option to Sandy? He seemed really tense – the galactic levels of dry sarcasm he was sending out told me that. Turning my head to look towards the house, to see if the older man was about to go for his father-in-law's throat (wouldn't want to miss it if he was) or not; my gaze was caught by motion on the patio. I froze, one hand on the door to the pool house, and tried to process what I was seeing. I moved to get a better look at the woman; hoping I was mistaken, hoping, really, that I was hallucinating.

''Hey. Fancy seeing you here.'' Fuck, that was the same voice. When I expected the other shoe to drop, I never expected it to belong to **her**. ''Who's the job?'' I glared, too angry at the insinuation to reply. ''I'm with Caleb.'' Like I couldn't figure that out for myself. There wasn't anyone else she could be here with, after all.

''Oh my God, that could be my Grandma.''

Well, I wasn't hallucinating. That was the good news. Bad news? The woman who'd been my last client (if you didn't count my inability to perform) was wrapping a towel around her bikini-clad form and smirking at me like she had a secret.

Even worse news?

She did.

Mine.

--xxx—

''Do you think Taylor's mom would let her go?''

I managed to shrug instead of glare, but it was difficult. I was sitting in the damn Jacuzzi to keep an eye on him, since he seemed to be so blind to the flirting 'Gaby' was doing; not talk about my girlfriend. No way had Julie sent her (too great a risk that our mutual past would get out) which meant the blonde was now freelance, and that made her dangerous. Freelancers weren't, usually, anything like me and Spence – the most glaring difference being their complete lack of loyalty to anything but their own interests. Guess that was why people found the two of us so fascinating; we were loyal to more than the bottom line.

''You should ask her.'' Asking her wasn't the problem. Facing her sycophantic mother without slapping the cold-hearted bitch was.

''I will if you ask Summer.'' If he was doing that, he wouldn't be there when I talked to Veronica; and that was good. No telling what would happen, but I knew for sure I wouldn't want any witnesses.

''Oh, man. Can you come along for moral support? Keep her from running the other way?'' He turned desperately pleading eyes to me and I felt a pang of sympathy for his parents. I was going to cave to that look, and I wasn't even a blood relative. Guess I knew how he'd gotten a skateboard despite his mother's over-protective nature. ''Keep me from making a fool of myself?''

''Sure.'' I really didn't like the calculating looks Gaby was shooting the both of us. It was obvious the conclusion she was jumping to, and I really didn't want her sharing her wacked ideas with her sugar-daddy. I didn't want to find out what the old man was capable of when riled. ''What are brothers for?'' That got me a huge grin from my friend and a confused look from my problem.

Seth scrambled out of the tub and went tearing into the house to get changed. I took my time, knowing he'd be a while, deciding what to wear. That should give me enough time to de-rail the suspicions of his grandfather's 'date'. More than enough, really. Hell, I'd have enough time to deal with her, get changed, read a book……unless, of course, he wanted my help.

Fuck, better wrap this up before he came back to ask which shirt his dream girl would like better.

''He's cute.'' I scowled, fighting back the urge to warn her off. The idea, after all, was to convince her I **wasn't** gay and 'working' my best friend. ''Hope you're giving him a discount.''

''I'm retired.'' She smirked and I had a sudden desire to push her head under the water and hold it there. Shrugging it off, I got out of the tub and reached for a towel.

''I don't believe you.'' Looking down as I dried off, I saw her leaning on the edge of the Jacuzzi, smiling up the length of my body with a sultry look. She wet her lips, letting her gaze linger below my waist. _Kicking her in the face isn't going to help,_ I scolded myself. _Just shut her down before she tries the blackmail_.

''Believe what you want.'' The shrug was easy, as I honestly didn't care what she thought. It was what she might _do_ that was worrying me. ''Say what you want, in fact. See what it gets you. If they even believe you.'' Sandy would, knowing what he knew about Spencer and the stripping. I tried not to hold my breath as I waited for her to either call my bluff or fall for it.

''You mean they don't know?'' Her nose wrinkled as she tried to think – I could practically hear the hamster panting as it worked the wheel in her head. ''Why are you here if you're not….?''

''That's between me and the Cohens.''

Like I was actually going to tell_ her_ it was because they liked me. Giving any more ammo to Caleb's bimbo wouldn't be a smart move. Betting that she'd want to keep her meal ticket from finding out about her 'checkered past' (even if he knew, I doubted he knew the details) however; that **was** a smart move. I hung the towel around my neck and headed for the pool house, already planning what I'd say to Seth to boost his confidence. Gaby had just been moved from prime threat to barely a concern, which meant I could concentrate on the next problem – helping my brother get a date with Summer Roberts.

--xxx---

''So, what time are you picking me up?''

''I'm not.''

I was starting to think Marissa had some kind of serious mental problem to go with the drinking. I mean, I was used to drunks having hallucinations and trouble dealing with reality, sure; but not when they were **sober**. She was absolutely convinced that I wanted her and nothing I said or did seemed to have any impact. I'd have more hope about my showing up with Taylor deflating this idiot's delusions, if it wasn't for the fact that seeing us at Cotillion didn't seem to have made even the slightest dent.

''I'll be meeting you there, then. At the pool house?''

Fuck, Seth really owed me for this. Distracting Summer's best friend so that he could ask the brunette to his grandfather's party had sounded like a great idea. With Julie supposedly on the 'hate Ryan Atwood' band wagon with the rest of the Newpsies (you could tell my former clients by the level of their 'disdain' and the calculating looks they gave Kirsten – bitches); I figured we'd have a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before she started snipping at me. I'd forgotten how much this bimbo liked to piss off her mother, though; which meant instead of snipping at me she was hitting on me.

How long could it take the guy to ask a girl out, anyway? It'd been an eternity of three minutes already. I glared over at my brother and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming at him to hurry it up.

''I have a date.'' I didn't even try to keep my tone polite. Outright rudeness was my only option. Anything else, and she'd see it as a sign that I was overcoming my 'shyness' and expressing an interest in her.

''I'll double it.''

''Double what?'' No. There was no way she could know. I'd been too careful. The look in her eyes, though; said that Julie hadn't been as circumspect as I had. Guess she still had that blind spot when it came to her daughters, even if it was smaller after the Chino thing.

_Bluff, Ry, bluff_ my inner-Spencer advised. _She can't be completely sure without_ _proof, and there's no proof._

''Double your payment.'' **Son of **_**bitch**_. Only years of practice kept my face still. No proof, no proof; I chanted to myself. If I reacted at all, she'd have proof. No way did I want to give this petty little brat any leverage over me. ''How much?''

''I'm not getting paid.'' Marissa made a skeptical huffing noise in the back of her throat. Scowling, I pushed away thoughts of grabbing her by it and squeezing. Satisfying, probably; but all it would really do is create more problems. And I really didn't want to push Julie any further than events already had. Her 'firing' of 'Trey' had been the only thing that saved her reputation. Too bad that cover meant we were supposed to be 'enemies' now; because I really had to find a way warn my former boss that her secrets weren't as secure as she thought. I wouldn't put it past her eldest to blow the whole thing, just to embarrass her mother. A little honesty might buy me some time here. Never worked with this bitch before, but it was worth a shot to try and salvage the situation. ''I'm retired.''

''Because Trey got sloppy.'' She wasn't asking, but I gave her a shrug as an answer anyway. It fit in with the cover story, which was actually a good thing. If **she** bought it, so would every other mini (and full-grown) Newpsie. The gossip in this town was savage, and often wildly inaccurate; but the people here treated it like they were getting information off CNN. However she spread the news of my retirement, whatever spin she put on it; it would be a solid, incontrovertible fact within a couple days. Given that, there really wasn't any need to talk to her ever again. I didn't even have to be polite anymore, since Julie and I were 'at odds'.

Besides, the other two were on their way over; which meant I got to leave now. From the way Seth was stumbling, I guessed he'd finally managed to ask Summer out. From the way he was smiling, I'd bet she'd said 'yes'. Surprising. I'd expected a girl as good at the hot and cold game as she was to string him along for at least another year. I was glad she hadn't, he'd be somewhat easier to live with ……….okay, so he wouldn't be any easier to live with. He'd be less morose and depressed, though; so it was a start. I nodded at her to say goodbye and threw in some eye contact to try and convey my gratitude for her going against her clique's expectations. Falling into step with my new brother, I barely kept from rolling my eyes at what was sure to be the first of many re-tellings of his asking and her agreeing. I'd guess we were going to go over the event (and its many, many nuances) at least five times an hour until the actual party.

I don't think that grin was coming off his face**ever.**

--xxx—

''Taylor? I know you're in there.'' I knocked again and leaned on the bell. What the hell was going on? ''Taylor, come on!''

I'd had to drop off Seth before going to ask Taylor to the party, which had resulted in my getting roped into helping set up said party and thereby missing my chance to ask my girlfriend to the thing in person. If only he'd believed me when I'd told him Veronica was out of town and our chances of running into her at the Townsend place were therefore slim. Unfortunately, he'd freaked at the very thought of encountering the woman, demanding GPS verification (which he'd known I couldn't give him), and then abandoned me to the 'mercy' of his severely freaked mother. Kirsten had been beyond nervous about something, but I'd been pulled aside for a private word with Sandy before I could suss it out.

Any other time, I would've been thrilled at the warm feeling that shot through me when the man told me to ignore Cal's vitriol. I was part of the Cohen family now, and they weren't going to let me go. No matter what happened, no matter what anyone said or did; they'd stand by me. It had been great, a real 'moment' as Spence would say; but I'd begged off any further conversation to call Taylor (no longer having time to drive over before the party) and invite her. I don't know if it had been the fact that he was an understanding guy, or the distraction of my pointing out his wife's behavior (she was starting to reach Seth-levels of fidgeting); but he'd left me alone to make the phone call.

She'd been amused by the whole Summer-thing, concerned about the Kirsten thing, and touched by the thing with Sandy. She'd said that she understood about my not being able to make it over to pick her up and that we were good, that she was looking forward to seeing me. I'd gotten changed and waited for her to arrive. An hour later, I was on my way here; and now I was trying to stay calm as I thought up reasons (she was sleeping, showering, not home, being kidnapped!) why she wasn't answering the fucking door!

''What do you want, Ryan?'' I took my hand off my cell where my panic and worry had sent it (guess the cops could stay at the Krispy Kreme tonight) and looked for where Taylor's voice was coming from. A little light drew my attention to the intercom, worked into the design around the door. When the light went out, I pushed the button to talk.

''Are you okay? You didn't come to the party.'' I was really concerned about this. Not because of the party – if I didn't live there, I wouldn't have gone, either – but because of her tone of voice. Tight, somewhat harsh; and cold as all hell. It was completely unlike the girl I knew and made my stomach clench with worry.

''What, scared you won't get paid?'' She snapped it, hard and sharp; and it went into my gut like a switchblade. I literally couldn't breathe, black spots edging into the corners of my vision. ''Spent all the money from Cotillion already?'' The knife of her voice moved up and made ground meat of my heart.

Nightmare.

This was almost my worst nightmare.

It wasn't the worst, because the worst had her sneering at me in disgust or with hazel eyes welling up with tears of disappointment or with a face utterly still with icy disdain.

Those reactions were the reason I hadn't wanted her to know what I ……..

Wait a minute.

I was **retired**.

Fuck, I hoped that would make a difference.

''I didn't get paid for Cotillion.'' I kept my thumb on the button, not wanting to hear her disbelieving snort or the silence of her doubt. ''Or the Fourth of July thing, in case you were wondering. I retired months ago, long before you and I…..'' Definitely didn't want to say 'hooked up' or anything else implying sex. That cut out most of my vocabulary regarding girlfriends, however, so I reached for some of Seth's. ''….before there was a 'you and I'.'' **Now** I moved my thumb. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and what she said in response would either push me over or pull me back. I had to remind myself that holding my breath in anticipation was a bad idea.

''Retired. I'm supposed to believe that? When you've lied to me and broke your promise not to keep things from me?'' Dammit, why did she have to be like this? Jealousy and possessiveness I could deal with, point out how I hadn't been working when we'd started getting closer and things would be fine. But this? Her wanting to know this shit didn't make any sense at all.

''It's my **past**, Taylor.'' I couldn't keep the irritation out of my voice entirely. All of a sudden, I really missed Spencer. At least_ he_ understood that talking about our personal histories didn't solve anything and therefore they weren't up for discussion. ''Which isn't anything you want to hear about.''

''I wanted to be close to you, Ryan.'' The past tense made me flinch and I threaded my fingers through the filigreed 'vines' around the door, wondering if I could get rid of some of my anger by pulling on it until it came off. My head was throbbing and I really needed to hurt something. Briefly, I wondered where Zach was right then. ''I wanted to share and have you share with me. I wanted to know things about you no one else did.''

The little light went out, and I stabbed the button so hard I think I heard something crack. Blind with rage, I let the words come pouring out of me.

''You want to know? You _really_ want to know about my past, Taylor? You want to hear about how I started sleeping in the backyard as soon as I could work the door because it was **safer** than being in the house with my drunken mother and her occasional coked-out boyfriend? Or how about how I used to pick girls to _spend time with_ by whose mother would** feed** me or whose brother, boyfriend, or husband was _**least**_ likely to try and **kill** me? Maybe you want to hear about the **shit** that happens to teenaged foster kids?'' I sucked in air, unable to stop despite the nausea rising up into my throat and roughening my voice. ''You want to hear about how the queer pimps would eye me up, trying to see if I was desperate enough_ yet_ to bend over for them? How the junkies' cold eyes would give me chills for days because I could **see** them calculating if the stuff I **might** have stashed on me was worth the trouble of stabbing me? Watching the homeless guys root through garbage and actually wondering about the possibility of them sharing if they found something good? Estimating just how long it would be before I was _**one of them**_?'' My breathing was loud in my ears and my hands hurt from clenching them so tightly. I stepped back from the intercom, trying to get control of myself before I said or did anything to make this even worse.

''Ryan…..'' I didn't want to talk anymore. The anger was draining away and I wanted to be gone before the depression kicked in. Had I really thought that a girl like Taylor would want anything to do with someone like me? Even if she never found out about what I'd done; it never would've really worked. _Dreams don't come true_, I chided myself. _You should've remembered that._ ''Ryan, we need to talk about this.''

''I'm not talking about it.'' I wasn't going to grovel; beg and plead to get her back. Not only wouldn't it work, but I wasn't sure that I **wanted** to. She'd closed me down and shut me out; not even checking if what her mother (I was guessing, but it fit with her comment about Cotillion) had told her was true. All the talking in the world wasn't going to create the trust she obviously didn't have for me. Before I left, before I grabbed my bike and spent the next six hours lost in the wind and my shattered hopes; I snarled her a **very** good reason why she should **never** have brought this shit up. ''It was hard enough living through it the first time.''


	11. Dog Days

**A/N: **Finally! Last chapter of the Summer Loving saga. Sorry about the wait, people.

Feedback? Please?

--xxx—

_……..in this farewell there's no blood there's no alibi……._

The surface of the bag was sharp under my knuckles. I swung again, grunting at the harsh contact. Music made a wall of sound between me and everything outside the pool house. Sandy had sensed something was up at breakfast, I could tell; but he nodded when I said I was going to work through it with the body substitute. Didn't look like it was working, though. Every time I tried to stop, tried to lower my fists; I heard the disappointment in Taylor's voice and the rage flowed back full-force. Rage at her : for prying and stirring this shit back up. Rage at Spencer, for taking off on that stupid undercover crap that stood a good chance of getting him killed. Rage even at the Cohens, for being so nice and normal and convincing me I could change and have the life I'd always wanted. Most of the rage, however; was directed at myself.

For being relieved that my best friend was out there without anyone to watch his back.

For wanting (and taking) a girl who deserved so much better than someone like me.

For believing that my past would stay past.

For thinking that I could have the life I definitely wasn't worthy of.

_ …….'cause I've drawn regret from the truth of a thousand lies……_

I couldn't even leave – my usual fall-back position of taking off wasn't going to work here. The Cohens' application for guardianship was working its way through the foster-care bureaucracy; which meant that if I bolted, I'd never be able to come back. Fuck the 'legal' consequences: I doubted they'd recover from (or forgive me for) what my disappearing would do to this family.

I was trapped.

Snarling, I swung a heavy left, stumbling when my sweaty fist slid across the surface of the bag. Gasping for breath, I put my hands out and stopped the swing; wishing I could just go back and do it over. If I'd just crashed and burned that morning; I never would've met the girl or the kid. I wouldn't have this sharp twisting in my gut, this hole in my chest. Things would've been so different. 'Trey' would still be here, I'd still be 'working'………

_Click_

I was so busy choking on my nausea at the very** thought** of 'working' again that I'd missing his approach. Which was weird, because he was usually so loud. Of course, it could also have something to do with the music I'd been blasting; before he'd turned it off. Grabbing a towel, I refused to turn around as I wiped down. Not all the salt on my face was from sweat, and I didn't want him to see. I didn't want me to see either, which was probably why I'd skipped shaving this morning. Unfortunately, having my back to him meant that when he spoke; I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Fuck. Could I be any more of a pansy?

'' How's it going, bro?'' That same note of concern had been in his voice at breakfast, too. I shrugged, not sure if I could trust myself to speak. Members of this family had a nasty habit of blowing right past my defenses and I was desperately trying to rebuild them. Which was harder than it should be, damnit. I'd nearly caved and gone with him to close down the _Summer Breeze_ when he'd given me the 'worried puppy eyes'. ''Oh, that was informative. I don't speak shrug, sorry. You'll have to actually use **words**, I'm afraid. But, hey – I brought Grand Theft Auto to ease you into the virgin territory of you, you know; actually **speaking**.'' He must've tossed the game on the bed, because I didn't hear it ticking onto the table next to the TV. ''C'mon, man. We haven't spoken in so long, it feels like we're practically strangers.''

''We had breakfast not four hours ago.''

There was no way I was out-lasting him. Not the kid who'd held onto a crush for eight years without even trying. Not the guy who'd insisted on telling me about Summer kissing him (which I had my doubts about) so many times that he'd fallen asleep on the floor, mid-sentence. I might as well give in before he drove me over the edge. I eyed the door to the bathroom but knew there was no way he'd let a mere door stop him. It sure hadn't last night, when I'd been trying to take a shower; blunt and rude in my desperation to be alone. It hadn't worked then, and I really didn't see it working now.

''So we did. However, 'just coffee' doesn't count as actual conversation in my book. Anymore than 'I'm not hungry' counted half an hour ago, when I had lunch with Taylor.'' He caught the flinch. Hell, a blind monkey would've caught it. The chance of running into my ……I suppose it was ex-girlfriend, now…..was why I hadn't wanted to go with him in the first place. I was nowhere near ready to face even the thought of her. ''What happened? You guys are great together. Weird, in a 'you're dating the female me' way; but great. If you two couldn't make it work…….''

He trailed off, but he really didn't have to finish.

If I couldn't make it work with Taylor – what kind of chance did he have with Summer?

''I don't want to talk about it.''

''Yeah, I kinda got that.'' But he wasn't going to accept it, I could tell from his tone of voice. I folded the towel over and wiped at the surface of the bag to give myself an excuse not to turn around. If I didn't turn around, it was (barely) possible I could avoid this conversation. ''Problem is, I can't help if I don't know what the problem is.''

''You can't help.'' So much for avoidance. Of course, when it was a choice between avoiding and giving the guy the cold shoulder……. He was the best friend I'd ever had, and no way was I going to risk **that** for my stupid pride. ''There's nothing to be done.'' Didn't mean I had to start whining about the way things had turned out, though. No reason to be that pathetic.

''How do you know? I could have the brilliant answer that will solve everything. I may not be Don Juan; but Mom and Dad have given me tons of romantic advice over the years. Some of it might even be applicable in your case. C'mon, man; let me help.'' There was a long pause, and I was surprised not to hear him fidgeting like he usually did if he had to be quiet for more than five seconds. Then again, if I hadn't been straining to hear what he was doing back there, I might've missed his whisper. ''I don't like seeing you hurting like this.''

''Taylor….'' Speaking her name was just about as painful as I'd thought it would be. I had to stop and take a deep breath. ''She didn't like…….she found out….. some stuff……about me.'' I twisted the towel in my hands and tried to ignore the way my voice had shook. Then Seth spoke, and I had bigger concerns than my voice control.

''She found out about the stripping?'' I spun around so fast, I actually made myself dizzy. The sweat-soaked towel settled over my foot, and everything felt numb except my heart; which was going like it was revving up for a quarter-mile. ''Didn't you tell her you were quitting?''

''How…..? Did Sandy?'' It was unlikely, but just barely possible. The man was good at keeping secrets (had to be, given his profession); but this was his **son**. I could see him reassuring the kid about why I'd been acting like an asshole, back when I'd first quit.

''Dad knows?'' Well, fuck. Maybe it was a good thing I hadn't gone with Spence, after all. I'd obviously lost my ability to keep my goddamn mouth **shut**. ''Why? Sweet Jesus and Moses, you don't need police protection or anything, do you? Big bruisers named Guido aren't going to show up to drag you back to the club, are they?'' I couldn't help it, I had to smile. Strippers weren't so hard to find that anyone would come after one; no matter how talented. Not like the average pimp would come after a whore. My situation with Julie, however, was about as far from that as it was possible to get, so I wasn't worried. ''Ryan? Are you sure you're safe?'' I nodded, smiling wider when he slumped with exaggerated relief. ''So, Taylor freaked when she found out about the stripping? That's a good.''

''It is?'' The smile left my face and I tensed up. Was this where he let me know what he _really_ thought of me? Told me how much I didn't deserve a girl like Taylor?

''Well, sure. Freaking over that kind of thing isn't a breakup; it's a hurdle.'' He waved a hand dismissively at me, turning his attention to the video game he'd brought. ''Once you guys talk things out; it'll be fine. She can't hold it against you forever. It was just looking, after all. Not like you were man-slutting all over town.'' I couldn't help it, I flinched. And, of course; since my luck sucked the big one lately – he noticed. ''You couldn't have been. You've been with Taylor.'' As much as I liked his automatic assumption that I wasn't the cheating type, I couldn't let him get any further in his guessing game. Not only might he stumble on the truth, but I didn't want him adding things up and deciding it was _Taylor's_ fault.

''I quit before we hooked up, but…..'' My jaw and fists ached and I had to make a conscious effort to relax both. The silence built up between us and I bit my bottom lip to keep from demanding that he say something. As much as I didn't want to hear him tell me to get lost – it would be better than the dread that was icing my veins and numbing my stomach.

''You were……professionally?'' His suppositions were bound to be worse than the truth (he had one hell of an imagination), so it was safer just to nod my confirmation. Bracing myself, I looked him right in the eye. Warmth, sympathy, concern. No sign of disgust or pity or disappointment. What the hell? ''Dude, that had to be……. Are you all right?'' It was the utter lack of judgment in his face and voice let me relax enough to nod. ''Is this what Trey went off to deal with?'' Shit. I nodded, but scolded myself about letting his juvenile behavior color my perceptions of his intelligence. Apparently, just because he didn't appear to be paying attention; didn't mean he was actually oblivious to what was going on. ''Does Dad know?''

''You think he'd offer to be my guardian if he did?'' I wouldn't put it past the man to have guessed; but there was no reason to confirm any suspicions he might have. Thankfully, the only people Seth could keep a secret from were his parents; so I didn't have to worry about them changing their minds and tossing me to the 'mercy' of the system.

''Of course he would. We Cohens don't say things we don't mean. We all want you here. Besides, it's not like you're dangerous or anything.'' I gave him a look and he grinned. I couldn't help but return it, wondering if maybe I hadn't been locked into expecting disaster for so long I wasn't capable of seeing solutions – only problems. ''Not dangerous to us, that is. Ryan, seriously; it's Cohens plus one now. You're part of the family and, if you weren't totally disgusting what with the mucky sweat and all; you'd get the humiliating patented Cohen manly-hug to prove it.''

--xxxx—

''What about this one? Ryan?''

''Whatever.''

''Let's take a break, okay?''

Kirsten led the way out of the computer store and over to a bench. I trailed after her, swallowing a deep sigh of frustration. This afternoon was shaping up to be a real pain in the ass. Unlike earlier. Spending the morning with Sandy down at the DMV hadn't been as bad as I'd expected. Short lines, efficient clerks, a surprisingly easy set of tests; and I had a driver's license enabling me to legally do what I'd been doing since I was twelve. My future guardian had insisted on paying the insurance and vehicle registration for my 'gift' (not really a lie, the motorcycle** was** a gift) stating that we really didn't want anyone looking into how I'd gotten my money. Very true, so I'd let him cover it; mistakenly thinking that I could make it up by paying for my school supplies during the shopping trip with his wife.

So far, I hadn't been able to even** suggest** paying for anything, not even lunch, and I was starting to get the idea that the cops would hand out free meth samples before the Cohens would let me fork over so much as a dollar for anything I needed.

''Is it that you don't like computers? Is that why you don't want a laptop?'' Damn, that would've been a great excuse; if I could actually lie. As it was, I went with the ever-popular shrug. I didn't really see the need for half (okay, most) of the stuff she wanted to buy me. They had two computers (Seth's and the one in the study) at the house, not including the laptop she took to work. The furniture in the pool house was perfectly fine, if plain; and I had clothes enough. I'd thought we would be shopping for the stuff I **didn't** have: pencils, pens, paper, backpack, etcetera; but half an hour at geek paradise and that theory was out the window. What the fuck were we doing **here**? ''Ryan, you need this.'' Again, I shrugged, because, really? I wasn't seeing why I needed a computer, more furniture, new clothes, or any of the rest of her suggestions. ''Ryan?'' From her tone, she wanted a verbal response this time.

''You shouldn't waste your money.'' Inwardly, I cringed. The Cohens tended to become overly sympathetic whenever I slipped and mentioned some snippet of how much my life had sucked or insinuated that I couldn't change my future. I got the feeling that they (the adults, anyway) intended to shower me with gifts, affection, and support until I either accepted my place in their family or (metaphorically speaking) drowned.

''It's not a waste.'' Here it came: the lecture on how I was a wonderful person. Or the lecture on how smart I was and how I could do anything I set my mind to. There were several versions of each, some of which I could recite in my sleep, by this point. _Maybe I_ _should start numbering them……_ ''You're going to need your own computer to do your homework, Ryan. I thought you'd prefer a laptop, but we can always go for the full system.'' Great. Not only wasn't I talking her **out** of the little purchase; **now** she was going for the bigger one. _Note to self – never go into sales, or the law, or, basically, any_ _field that requires convincing people to do what you want_. ''Sandy uses the computer in the den almost constantly for work and, much as I love him, I know how distracting my son can be; which lets out the computer in his room. You need your own. Something with wireless for your research and a good word-processing program for your papers – starting with your entrance essay.'' _Well, hell. A practical reason_. I'd been anticipating cramped fingers and piles of paper when I'd found out about the essay every Harbor applicant (paying** or** scholarship) had to write. It'd honestly never occurred to me to type it up. ''You'll need a printer – we can put it on the back counter, by the stove? – and a charging station, if you decide on a laptop; but this truly isn't a needless purchase.''

''And the other stuff?'' What do you know? Kirsten had actually had good reason for dragging me out here. I'd just figured the shopping was a Newport thing, since she was a native; or she was working off that urge to redecorate that Seth had warned me about. Mistake, mistake –because no **true** 'Newpsie' would've married a man like Sandford Cohen. Or understood a kid like Seth.

Or be willing to make some street punk from Chino part of her family.

''Ryan, you're only sixteen.'' I frowned at her, wondering what my age had to do with anything. It wasn't like teenagers needed special furniture and I wasn't likely to grow enough in the next year to warrant a new wardrobe. ''Granted, you're a very mature sixteen, but…… You have to trust us.''

''I do.'' More than I trusted anyone else. Hell, more than I trusted Spencer. The Cohens were those 'good people' I'd heard so much about and had always thought were an urban legend. ''I trust you.''

''Trust that we are aware of what we can and can't afford. Trust that we wouldn't try the impossibility of buying your affection. Trust that we know what we're doing.'' Looked at from that angle, I suddenly realized just **why** it was I objected to them spending money on me. It definitely wasn't that they couldn't afford it. Hell, they could afford to buy half the damn mall without it making an impact in their finances. No, the reason was more personal and I just hoped it wasn't going to snap the fragile mother-like relationship I was building with this woman.

''I don't want to be what Caleb says I am.'' It was difficult to get the sentence out without flinching. She was close to her father, and I didn't want to ruin that for her by making her take sides. Still, she deserved to know why I was acting like this. I'd only met the old bastard three or four times; but his little jabs had apparently had a deeper effect than I'd thought. _Because he's a powerful authority figure_? I wondered, _or because he_'_s Seth's grandfather_?

''You let Sandy and I worry about my father.'' Kirsten frowned briefly, then patted my arm in an almost absent-minded attempt at comfort. She shook off the mood after a couple seconds and gave me a solemn, affectionate look. The same kind she'd give her son, when she was trying to have a serious conversation with him. _Where did this lump in my throat come from?_ ''All we want from you are the same things we want from Seth. Stay out of trouble, do your best in school, always let us know where you are; and, if you need something, tell us.'' I nodded, already knowing that it was the last requirement that was going to give me the most trouble. She knew it too, because she gave me a sympathetic smile. ''**Try**, anyway. That's all we ask.'' I nodded, still feeling a constriction around my chest, in my throat. She must've picked up on something, because she just sat there, watching the crowd, until I pulled myself together. About ten minutes after that, she stood up. ''Ready?''

''Sure.'' I looked at her, so ready to be everything my mother hadn't been, and smiled. Standing up as well, I deliberately set aside every adult concern and tried to be the teenager I was around Seth. ''Could we get the black one? With the Harley-Davidson screensaver?''

''Of course, Ryan.'' No laughter, but the crinkle around her green eyes told me she was amused. ''Whatever you want.''

Whatever I wanted.

Good thing the woman had patience, because I was out of practice (if I'd ever really been in the habit) of even knowing what I wanted, let alone being able to get it.

---xxx---

''You could sit outside her house with a stereo, playing a really romantic song.'' I barely turned my head to glance at him and he nodded like I'd actually spoken. ''Yeah, definitely too John Cusack. What else…oh! You could intercept her at the mall and stand up on a bench, declaring your affection.'' I narrowed my eyes and he sighed. ''Okay, okay; not your style.'' He started muttering to himself and I went back to staring out over the infinity pool at the ocean and wondering when I was going to wake up from this dream-come-true.

Completing the essay had been a real, to quote Seth, 'labor of Hercules' – the hardest part, predictably, had been getting him to leave me alone to work on it without hurting his feelings. Now, however, it was done. On Monday, I meet the Dean, one Doctor Kim; and started the most important step in the future I wanted by registering for classes at an elite private school. On Monday. Which meant I had the weekend to work through my nervousness and deal with the fact that it was really happening.

Of course, what I was actually doing was obsessing over my (ex?) girlfriend. I'd broken down and called her not even a full day after our …….I guess you could call it a fight. More of a misunderstanding, really. Voice mail. Every single time I called. So far, she hadn't returned any of my messages. Waiting for her to respond was driving me nuts, so I'd been kind of grateful for the hoop that the Harbor school had made me jump through. Working on the essay had distracted me from my personal problems quite well. Now, however, it was finished, and everything I'd pushed back 'until later' had come surging to the front of my mind. Unfortunately, I still had no idea what was going on with me and Taylor. Had we broken up, or was it just a fight? Was she waiting on an apology? If she was, was some sort of gift necessary, or just sincerity? Not knowing what to expect was winding me up to a knot of irresolvable tension and not knowing what was going on…….

Which was why I was listening to Seth and his babbling about ever-more ridiculous 'solutions' to my current dilemma. Somehow, his out-there ideas and schemes made the situation seem much less dire, the problem far less insurmountable. His unshakeable assumption that this **would** be fixed, that Taylor and I **would** get back together and everything would be 'shiny' – once we figured out how to do it, that is – was the reason I was able to eat, sleep, and give the body-bag a rest.

''……with a big presentation and story board, detailing how much better your life is with her in it – translated into the super-hero genre by yours truly………''

It also made it easier to listen to his 'plans' with a straight face; as I knew he wasn't **trying** to be funny, just honestly attempting to help.

''…..write a poem? That could……hang on.'' He wiggled around on his deck chair, hunting for his cell phone; the weird music he used as his ring tone getting louder with each repetition. ''I wonder what the 'rents……oh my God.'' He held out the device with a shaking hand so I could see the display. ''It's **Summer**. Oh, Moses. What do I say?''

''Hello?'' He scowled at me, something he really didn't do well; and turned wondering eyes back to the small silver rectangle. ''You gonna answer that?'' He twitched and I fought down a snicker. Cutting him a break, I pretended to go back to staring at the ocean while keeping watch on him out of the corner of my eyes.

''Of course I am.'' Swallowing heavily, he flipped the thing open and held it nervously to his ear. ''Summer?'' His voice squeaked and cracked and he tried a blatantly fake cough to cover it. I bit my lip because, since I was supposedly not paying attention, I couldn't legitimately laugh at his utter terror that the girl of his dreams had called him. ''Hey, I'm glad you called; we could use a woman's…….'' _**Fuck.**_ I sat up quickly, shaking my head and frowning at him. No **way** was he going to share my screw-up with Taylor with the biggest gossip in Orange County. Not only would that suck in general; but I didn't want my auburn-haired beauty to have to put up with any of** that** crowd's shit. ''….what?......'' Now it was **his** turn to sit quickly up. The amount of concern in that one word brought me to my feet to hover worriedly over him. _What the_ _hell?_ ''Something in the drink?'' I'd never actually seen the blood drain from someone's face, before; at least not **that** quickly. From the way my head went light; I wondered if the pale, horrified expression my new brother was sporting looked anything like what my own face was wearing. ''Where are you? ……..Summer? ……..**Summer!**'' Seth closed his eyes, face clenching tightly with despair as he lowered the phone. ''She hung up.'' He practically whispered it.

''Where is she?'' We needed to go, and fast. If she'd over-indulged, I didn't trust any of these junior Newpsies to take care of her; and if she'd been slipped something? Yeah, we needed to go **now.**

''I don't know! She didn't say! She sounded……..Oh, man.'' He was starting to breath faster and I knew there was no way I could let him work himself into a state. We couldn't afford the delay – not when Summer was depending on us to bail her out of a situation she thought extreme enough to warrant a desperate call to a kid everyone except his family (and me) thought was the biggest loser in Newport. ''She sounded scared ……..and drunk……or drugged…..oh, Summer….'' Tears were beginning to appear in his eyes. _Shit_. Sympathy wasn't going to do it, he was far too used to that. Looked like I was going to have to get tough with him and hope someday he'd forgive me.

''Where is she?'' I reached down and pulled him up by a firm grip on his shoulders. Good thing I'd vetoed the swim and went for just relaxing by the pool. With both of us fully dressed, I could take the time to shock him out of his incipient panic and get the information we needed. Not too much time, though. Shaking him a little, hoping that was as rough as I'd have to get; I repeated the question. ''Seth! Where is she?''

''I…. I don't…. .ow ….. let go…..''

''Are you telling me you've basically stalked this girl for almost a decade …..'' Stretching it, but truth wasn't the issue, right now. Snapping him out of this funk and getting him to **think** was. ''..and you can't tell me where she's spending her last weekend before school?'' He gaped like a fish for a few seconds, then I saw hope spark back into his eyes.

''Holly's barbeque!'' Seth twisted free and took off for the driveway, leaving me to chase after him. With a tiny thread of relief. I scooped up his phone on the way, figuring we could use the call-back function to track the girl down; once we reached the party.

Parking as close the front door as I could get, I reminding the anxiously vibrating boy next to me about our plan. He'd take the second floor while I'd work my way through the first; yelling if we found her and meeting up on the back deck if we didn't. I'd mentioned using the phone to find her by listening for her ring tone on the way over. Hearing how loud they had the music cranked, it was no wonder he hadn't been all that enthusiastic about the idea. Barely acknowledging the revised strategy, he took off; leaving me to secure the vehicle and start working my way through the crowd of our drunk, stoned, and horny fellow teens. Splitting up had been a difficult sell, but I'd finally managed to convince him it would be faster. If he hadn't been so worried about Summer, I probably wouldn't have been able to get him to agree. In actuality, I'd just figured this method of searching was far safer than having him down here in the main party. These were the dangerous ones, the ones still upright and mobile. Busting in on the passed-out and the passionate wasn't nearly so risky as searching through several rooms full of self-involved bimbos and bullies for a girl who gave new definition to the term 'petite'.

''She's not in there.'' He started chewing on his lip, peering over my shoulder into the party as if I'd stashed her on the cabinet with the chips. I shook my head and he slumped. ''I found Luke, though. He was …..busy.'' The statement really didn't need a response. Seth had spent several hours filling me in on his 'angel's' life. Everything from what classes she took to her favorite foods to who her friends were. Luke was, supposedly, her boyfriend; but he slept around with any girl who wiggled her hips at him. Something** my** friend was trying to find a way to tell the object of his desire without hurting her. I wished him luck. ''Maybe we should try the phone thing.'' That was good thinking. Not only did sounds carry better near the water, but it was definitely quieter out here. Barely, but we could always wait for a break in the music. Or, hopefully, someone complaining about the phone ringing. It might not get us Summer herself, since we'd already determined she wasn't in the house; but it might get us someone who knew where she was. ''Here we go.'' We both stepped to the edge of the rail, tilting our heads as we tried to hear……

''There.'' Faintly, I could hear the music playing from his phone repeating somewhere towards the ocean. Following the surprisingly athletic other boy as he sprinted across the sand, I only hoped the girl we were hunting hadn't decided to take a swim. He'd never recover if we didn't get to her before something (I was really trying **not** to think of the most likely scenarios) happened. I was so busy scanning the almost-black surf that I nearly ran into him when he suddenly stopped. ''What?''

''Her purse.'' He picked it up, looking hurriedly around for its owner. ''Can you tell which way she went?'' Where did he think I would've learned tracking? Chino didn't have the Boy Scouts, even if my mom had been willing (or able) to pay for it. Flattering as his confidence in me was, it wasn't helping with our current situation. ''Ryan? Which…….''

Laughter interrupted him, drawing our attention towards one of the bonfires dotting the beach. Chasing after the kid once again, making a mental note to come back for the purse; I came to full understanding of the term 'heart in the throat'. _Please, please,_ I begged internally, not really sure who I was addressing, _let her be safe. Let her be whole. _As I approached the circle of light, one of the goons made a comment about who got to have her first. Relief that she was as yet untouched made my entrance less than graceful; my feet tangling so that I stumbled briefly into my fellow rescuer before I came to a halt. Seeing the tiny form slumped in the grip of a guy who looked like an extra from one of Seth's post-apocalypse movies cause dread to pump icily after the adrenaline already surging through me. Dread that increased when I saw the way the jerk's friends spread out, the way their eyes assessed the two new arrivals.

_Great._ The only bonfire on the beach that had kids from (by their clothes) the numbered streets, guys who knew what (by the way they moved) they were doing in a fight. **Of course** that would be where we found Seth's future girlfriend.

''Let her go.'' He sounded more like me than the chattering, perpetually nervous geek I was used to. Nothing of my surprise showed on my face, though. No need to give these guys any more of an advantage than they already had by showing any doubt in my partner in this insanity. Four to two (couldn't count the girl, she was so out of it I was surprised she was still upright), not the best odds. Especially when one of the two could only effectively fight via Playstation. I stepped to the left, trying to draw their attention solely to me. Which idea went to hell when Seth spoke again. He really** couldn't** keep his mouth shut, could he? ''I** said**, let her go.'' His fists were clenching, just the way I'd tried to teach him; all those weeks ago.

Guess he really** had** been paying attention.

Which gave me another idea.

Time to see how much attention he was currently paying, and whether that Cohen trick of reading my mind would work under stress.

''Now!'' I shouted, charging forward to tackle the head guy; seeing my brother _mind-reader_ snatching Summer out of his startled hold in my peripheral vision. We hit the ground with such force that I felt a rib (his, thankfully) crack, given me even more of an advantage. I scrambled up, giving my opponent a good kick in the vicinity of that cracked rib to keep him down. ''Go! Get out of here!'' Snatching up a piece of wood from the fire, I waved it towards the other two……wait, where was the third……?

Sharp pain, the torch rolling away, and my vision spotting as I tried to stand back up.

Everything after that was blows and cussing; blood and pain by firelight.

Trade beach for alley and neon for bonfire, and it was pretty much where I came in.

**A/N 2:** Yes, I'm leaving it there. No, I didn't kill him. Yes, I'm a stinker. No, that's not the end of the Estates universe.


End file.
